


Perceptions of Light and Shadow

by Winterstar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Artist! Steve, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Romance, Single Father, Slow Build, Stripper! Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 23:18:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 80,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3955702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Signing up for an art course had not been his intention at all. He’d gone into the building after something else entirely. And not the hot teacher, the other one, the one with the arm or lack thereof. Tony Stark might be a warmonger to the rest of the world, especially his soon to be father-in-law, Obadiah Stane, but his true heart lies in building, inventing, and helping others. After what he saw in Afghanistan he decides to change everything with his company and way of life. He wants to redirect the company into biotech, green energy, anything that will make the world a better place. So, walking into the little art school was only to find a way to talk with the disabled Vet, it wasn’t to sign up for an art class, and it sure had nothing to do with how hot the teacher was. After all, Tony Stark is engaged and about to be married to the love of his life, Ty Stane. Why would he care about a down on his luck art teacher, who is a single father, and who has a mysterious job at a downtown exclusive club? Nope, Tony is perfectly happy in his life…yep, perfectly happy. He just can’t figure out why he just signed up for art classes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To all my subscribers I am sorry that when I first posted this I spammed your email box. That was not my intention at all. I wanted to have separate chapters so that you could stop and come back and read the story easily. But I didn't know AO3 wouldn't let me post all the chapters at once without the spam. I am SOOOO SORRY!!!!!
> 
> I had the honor to work with one of the best artists for Stony out there [kelslk](http://kelslk.tumblr.com). She didn't seem to care how wild and subplotty my story ended up being. She loved it and really cheered me on! So thank you so much....I hope everyone enjoys the story!
> 
> Please check out her original [art](http://kelslk.tumblr.com/post/119189179483/my-art-contribution-for-the-cap-ironman-2015).
> 
> Also, some of the information about banking, how finances work, how veterans' interaction with loans and healthcare work are somewhat skewed for the story. But please remember if you are a vet and not a retiree of the military (which means you have to have 20 years of service) things are a little less pleasant and/or easy to access.

“That freak is back again.”

Steve glances up from the crate of pastel boxes he’s unpacking to look out of the art school store front window. A man in a gray and black striped hoodie peeks into the large window, most of his features are obscured. The man wears dark glasses, the hood hides his hair, and, with the sun behind him, the shadows conceal all other defining attributes. 

“He’s a freak, every couple of days he comes by and just stares in,” Bucky says as he works the lid off of another crate of inventory for the art school. He tears off the receipt and places it on the desk in the back of the school. Papers, and boxes as well as an old computer and printer litter the old utilitarian desk. “Maybe he’s homeless.”

Shrugging, Steve turns back to his task, and says, “Doesn’t matter; he’s not hurting anyone.”

“Maybe he’s casing the place.”

“For what? French oil pastels? I’m sure he’ll get a lot on the black market for them,” Steve says. 

The inventory is expensive, but only to a select number of people. He stocks the school with the best, but doesn’t charge his students or their parents the full price. He knows his clientele, and his love of teaching art is primary in his mission. Occasionally, an artist comes by and outright orders some supplies – it helps pay the bills. How exactly he’s going to be able to afford the bill covering all of the new inventory, though, is another question. He put it on credit and that bill’s due soon. 

He grunts and Bucky raises a brow at him. “Just ignore him.”

“Doesn’t look like that’s an option anymore. He’s opening up the door, where’s your gun?”

Steve scowls. “I don’t have a gun.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

Steve leaves the crate and walks to the front of the large open store front. He uses the front of the store as the art school class room. He weaves through the easels, trays, and folding chairs set up in order to greet the man. “May I help you?”

“I just, I’m looking around,” the man says and slides his glasses down his nose to scan Steve for a second, but hops around as if he’s trying to get a glimpse past Steve to the back. Even though he’s in a hoodie and jeans, it’s obvious he’s not destitute. The jeans are designer as are the sunglasses. Unless he’s pinched them off of some unsuspecting wealthy louse, then he’s a rich man looking for something other than art lessons.

“The place isn’t for sale, regardless of what Schmidt might have told you.” He purchased the building with the last of his saving as a down payment. He might have a questionable loan that’s eating him alive, but he’s not giving up on his dream, not that easily. He has more than himself to worry about as he peers over his shoulder at Bucky glowering in the corner.

Turning back to the man, Steve says, “Like I said, the place isn’t for sale.”

“What?” The man spins around as if he’s just noticed he’s actually walked into the building. “Shit, no, who would want to buy this craptastic building? It’s practically falling down, should be condemned.”

“Excuse me?” Steve says. “Is there a reason you’re here?” 

The man sniffles and then twists about again as if he’s searching for something, or someone. “Art school, right?”

“Got it in one, give the man a prize,” Bucky says as he tosses a box of pastels to the counter next to the desk where Steve does all his measurements for mounting and framing. He walks forward to join them. 

The man screws up his face at Bucky, Steve notices the details of the man’s features – the warmth in his eyes that he tries to mask with casual arrogance, the tailored beard and mustache with the variations in color, small flecks of gray just slightly at the edge. There’s a slope to his nose that softens his features brings a familiar almost friendly aspect. His hair is what Steve would type as fit to be labeled hair porn quality. The man has a serious head of hair. Steve tells himself he notices these things because he’s trained to do so, he is an artist, after all.

“Yeah, I’m smart like that,” the man says. “You an artist or the muscle man, the bouncer of the joint?” 

Steve does a double take. “Um, what?”

“Are you the teacher, the artist?”

“Hmm, yes?”

“Should I talk to you, instead?” he says as he shifts and focuses his attention on Bucky. “Pretty amazing you being an artist with, you know, one arm.”

Bucky nearly growls at the man but Steve steps between them with a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and says, “I’m the artist and the teacher. Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’d like to take a class.”

“A class? Are you sure?” Steve says.

“Are you in the business of turning students away?” He crosses his arms over his chest which is the first self-protective move Steve observes. But then it occurs to Steve he’s wearing his sunglasses inside and the hoodie – when the hood is up which it is not right now – could be a way to hide as well.

Steve shakes his head. “No, but I usually teach children. I have one adult class on Monday nights.”

“That’ll do,” the man says. He takes out his credit card. “How much?”

“The session’s already began, We’re four classes into it, you should probably wait-.”

“No waiting, now, I want to enroll now,” the man says and shoves the plastic card into Steve’s hand. He keeps glancing over at Bucky, even gives him a wink that Bucky hisses it. 

The name on the card should have clued him in, but he is too flabbergasted at the man’s insistence to register for a course that is one third over already. The name reads Anthony E. Stark. “Ah, Mister Stark, it wouldn’t be worth it to start now, you’d have to try and make up classes.”

“I can do that,” Stark says. “And it’s Tony, Teach, I’ll pay whatever your price is.”

“I could maybe adjust the price for the missed classes. Prorate it?”

“I can pay you double, I don’t care. I want to take the class,” Stark says and taps the card in Steve’s hand. “Chop, chop.”

In all his years as an artist and a teacher, he’s never once encountered such desperation to join an art class. He guesses he should probably encourage the man’s interest in art. “Sure, okay.” He goes to the computer set in the back while Bucky mimes _chop, chop_ at him. 

The computer takes a minute to wake up considering it’s a good twenty years old. It has an old monitor with a keyboard stained with oil paint and pastel fingerprints from the children he teaches. The dot matrix printer attached to the old tower CPU is the source of eternal joy and jibes from his students, their parents, and friends alike.

“Wow, that’s like something out of a museum,” Tony says as if on cue.

Steve chuckles and says, “Not the first time I’ve heard that. It works, and that’s all that matters. You want a receipt?”

“To see the printer work, yeah sure. It will be like a walk down memory lane and my father’s childhood.” Tony snickers and hides his hands in his pockets. He pushes past an obstinate Bucky to stand by the printer as it spits out the receipt. “Christ, it really does work, doesn’t it?”

Steve only smirks at Tony. “Not everything that’s old should be thrown away, Tony.” Tearing off the sheet, Steve flips the page around to give it to Tony. 

“Just put it down, I don’t like-.”

“He don’t like to be handed things.” The statement comes from a big fellow who had entered the art school as Steve finished printing the purchase receipt. 

“This is my driver, Happy, you’ll get to know him over the next – how many weeks is it?”

“Twelve in all,” Steve says as Tony stares at the printout. “But we only have eight classes left.”

“Christ how many students do you have?” Tony picks up the receipt from where Steve places it on the desk. 

“About a dozen students per class give or take, but don’t worry I can handle that. Everyone gets one on one attention.” Steve watches Tony as he scowls at the paper.

“But yeah, how many classes a week do you teach?”

“I’m not sure how that’s relevant?” Steve says. “Are you sure you want to do this? Do you have experience in art? What kind do you like?”

Tony mutters something that Steve doesn’t catch. Bucky watches him and then studies Tony, his eyes focused on Tony’s flipping of the paper. Bucky’s restless which can only mean Steve should put the whole thing to bed now before he blows. PTSD can be a bitch. 

“Okay, then-.”

“Happy, look I’m taking an art class,” Tony says and waves the paper around as if it’s a prize or a flag.

The larger man claps his hands together not in glee but in some kind of camaraderie, and then says, “That’s great, boss, you want I drive you here for it?”

“Yeah, yeah that would be great, Tuesday nights-.”

Steve interrupts, “Mondays, I’m not here on Tuesday.”

Tony winks at him. “You sure, Sugarplum?”

Steve feels the heat rise to his face and curses inwardly. He’ll never get used to passes and any other type of flirtation even considering other aspects of his life. Peggy always said he was terrible at flirting, but he also recognizes he can’t accept a compliment to save his life. “Yeah, Monday is adult night.”

“Hear that Happy, Monday night is adult night at the art school,” Tony says with a quirked eyebrow. His smile charms and Steve can see how he must win over people easily.

“No, it’s not like that,” Steve says and realizes he’s trying to reassure someone who looks like Tony’s bodyguard slash limo driver. 

“Nude models, right?” Tony asks and he’s folding up the piece of paper as he talks, not looking at Steve but at the complicated creases he’s doing to the receipt.

“Nope, can’t afford it.” Nude models costs a bundle per hour. Each of his classes are two hours long. Having a nude model on a weekly basis would blow his budget. The adult art class helps keep the place afloat. 

Before Steve knows it, Tony’s finished the receipt and turned it into an origami flower. He flips it to Steve and says, “Not at these outlandishly low prices, you can’t. Do you even have any business sense at all?”

Huff, Steve bats the flower away and it skips across the linoleum like a stone on quiet waters. “Do you, I teach neighbor kids, their parents can’t afford much, I try and give bac-.”

“Steve, Steve,” Bucky says and holds onto his shoulder. He turns to Tony and his bodyguard. “Listen, buster, we don’t need your money around here if you’re not serious. We don’t want no perverts just looking to ogle-.”

“Okay, okay,” Tony says with his hands in surrender. “I’m not, I just want somewhere to hang on Tue- Monday nights. It’s not a big deal. I get it. No naked chicks.”

“Ladies,” Steve says through clenched teeth. “That’s someone’s daughter you’re talking about.”

“Who is?”

“What?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “How can you be a good teacher when you’re so confounding?”

“Talking to you is like talking to my high school physics teacher,” Steve spits back.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Tony says as his phone screams out hideous AC/DC song. “Ah, the love of my life calls. Au revoir my good Professor, see you on Tue- no Monday night.” He strolls out of the school so differently than he came in with the bodyguard trailing after him, Steve wonders if there was a shift in the space time continuum.

“Son of a bitch, I cannot believe Tony Stark just signed up to come to art school here,” Bucky says. 

“Yeah, so?” 

“Tony Fucking Stark? Seriously, Steve, are you from the 1940s?” Bucky says. “The big industrialist, genius, playboy. His company’s on the verge of collapse because of his refusal to do the defense contracts. The government is suing him for breach of contract. It’s all over the news.” He makes his way over to the ancient computer. He digs around on the desk and finds his smartphone. In a second, he throws Steve the phone, who snatches it out of the air, to find a page dedicated to Tony Stark, of Stark Industries.

“I thought his name sounded familiar,” Steve says and he scrolls through the page. “Yeah, that’s him.” Except without the scruffy hoodie and the sunglasses. It looks like the photographs on line came from a spread for GQ or something. “What’s he doing in Brooklyn, peeking in our windows?”

Bucky plucks the phone from his hand. “Yeah, that’s the question, isn’t it? Weird. He’s getting married soon.” He plays around with the phone and then shows Steve. “Trouble in paradise?”

The news page from one of the less than reputable sources goes into details – many not so complimentary – report about how Stark is on the outs with his fiancé. Headlines splashed over the websites about the break up and how it may lead to further problems for Stark Industries since the marriage would bring financial stability to the company. It is generally hypothesized that Stane is wheeling and dealing in Washington, while Stark is resisting the deals but agreeing to the marriage. The articles conclude that Stark is only marrying the younger Stane to appease government bigwigs, that with the marriage the government might take some of the heat off Stark’s back because they trust the elder Stane more than they trust a guy who had been abducted and abused by terrorists.

“Sounds like something out of a medieval fairy tale. I mean, it looks like Stark is agreeing to the marriage because he needs the money.”

“Or someone’s forcing it. Who cares, and now he’s sniffing around here.” Bucky shrugs. “Maybe he’s not gay and doesn’t want to marry this guy Ty?”

“I think he’s bi, Bucky. He used to date Ms. Pepper Potts.”

Bucky scoffs. “And here I thought you didn’t pay any attention to the rags,” he says as he yanks the phone out of Steve’s line of sight. 

“You’re up on all the society pages?” Steve snickers and gets back to unloading supplies. He knows that he’ll have to deal with why Stark decided to show up on his doorstep at some point, but not today. He has too much to do. He has to watch the clock, he doesn’t have a lot of time before he needs to get ready for tonight. 

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Bucky says. “Hey, am I picking up Emma tonight?”

Scratching at the back of his neck, Steve bites at his lip, and says, “Yeah, if you don’t mind. I got-.”

“Yeah, yeah, that – you know you don’t have to do that, Stevie,” Bucky says and plops down on the only comfortable chair in the place – that happens to be ratty as all get out and smells like old cigarettes and coffee grinds-couch. It’s gray and green and probably won the contest for ugliest couch in existence at one point or another. But it was cheap, as in zero dollars, and so he keeps it.

“I do if I want to keep this place and if we want to afford a decent prosthesis for you,” Steve says and finishes up categorizing all of the oil pastels. He’ll price mark them tomorrow. 

“I can wait for the VA,” Bucky says. “And you aren’t my partner or my mother, Steve, you don’t need to do this for me. The VA owes me. I can wait.”

“You shouldn’t have to, and they shouldn’t have screwed up the last one so much that you ended up with an infection-.”

“Don’t remind me,” Bucky says with a shiver. They’re still paying off the bills for that hospital stay since he ended up being transferred out of the VA hospital for more critical care. “Hey, Nat’s coming over tonight.”

“You’re not going to go to the gym, I need someone to stay with Emma.”

Bucky drops lower in the crushed cushions of the couch. “Don’t worry, we’re just gonna go over my job apps-.”

“I told you, you don’t have to do that, Bucky. You can stay with me and Emma for as long-.”

Abruptly, Bucky stands up, dark shadows crossing his features. “You know I’d like to make my way, stop being an invalid for once.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve agrees, but then catches a glimpse of the clock. “Shit, look at the time. I gotta get moving. I still have to get something for dinner for Emma, and then get dressed.”

“What’s it tonight? Greek god or cowboy?”

“Shut it, you jerk.” Steve tosses the rest of the supplies. He can finish up tomorrow morning before the first class, if he gets back early enough. But then again, he usually doesn’t make it back from the club until the wee hours of the morning. Trying to get everything stocked and priced is going to be a bitch. 

“I’ll do it, tomorrow, sleeping beauty,” Bucky says as Steve heads for the back stairs. 

“Thanks Buck,” Steve says and he climbs the stairs to the small flat he shares with his daughter and Bucky.

It had been a surprise to come back from his deployment, released from the service due to injury, and find out that one of the USO girls had been pregnant and had a daughter. He’d never intended to abandon a child and felt instantly guilty about it. 

Kassie had been a sweet girl, she taught him a lot about the stage and how to handle himself in front of the crowds. She’d also been his first. He’d never felt shy or embarrassed by the fact he waited until his late teens to have his first sexual encounter. As a child, he’d been sickly and then as he grew up and muscled up, as Bucky called it, he never felt more than just that little guy in a big guy body. Even after he joined the service. 

When he joined and they put him in the tour, he hated it. He wanted to make a difference, and there he’d been singing and dancing like a trained monkey. Eventually, he fought for and got the transfer he wanted to the 107th with Bucky. It all ended in disaster, of course. Bucky lost an arm, and Steve – Steve ended up with a long term lung injury. 

He would have fallen into despair over their collective luck, but when he found out about Emma. Things were different. He’d owed a lot to her mother, Kashena, or Kassie for short. She’d taught him a lot of things. She’d been kind and sweet, and brought him an awareness he’d only considered in passing.

He can still remember, hot and heated, with her under him. Her shivers and her body wrapped about him, he closed his eyes and thought of a different feel. How it might be with someone with rougher skin, harder muscles. When they finished and she smiled at him. He knew the difference and she taught him what he wanted. She’d never thought poorly of him.

“Stevie, look for him, that right one, ‘kay?”

“Sure, Kassie,” Steve had said the night before he was going to transfer to the 107th. He hadn’t left her until that day. He wouldn’t leave her, she looked at him in a certain way he hoped one day to look at someone.

“You’ll be happier,” Kassie said as she leaned into his shoulder, her full breasts pressing against his back. 

“I love you, Kassie,”

She kissed his shoulder and then propped her chin on it. “Come to bed, and I’ll give you a proper send off, soldier.”

He had. And Emma resulted from it. He hadn’t known, she hadn’t told him, until she needed someone to take Emma. He was back from war with a medical discharge and she had her big Hollywood break. She contacted him. They’d discuss whether or not they’d send Emma off to live with her family in Georgia, but both of them decided that being with one of them would be the best for their daughter.

He agreed immediately.

She signed a shared custody agreement with him with the understanding she would always be welcome to her bundle of joy. She’d been swept away by the fast life of Hollywood, ended up dead from an overdose two years later. He drank a half a bottle of bourbon the night he found out, puked his guts out at two in the morning with Bucky patting his back. 

While they were never meant to spend the rest of their lives together, he loved her and she was the mother of his child. It still hurts when he thinks about it. 

He wonders if things would have been different if she’d agreed to marry him. He tried to do the right thing when he found out that she’d had a baby girl, but she only rolled her eyes.

“Oh, baby boy, you’re just too old fashioned for words.”

They’d both smiled and then looked on Emma as proud parents do. He’d loved both of them at that moment and desperately wanted to spend the rest of his life providing for them. But Kassie wanted freedom as she was apt to fly to her own tune. She left and flew to the flames, burning out too early.

At five, Emma is curious about her Momma but doesn’t remember her much at all. It allows Steve a certain latitude. He tells great stories about Kassie, embellishing when he should and telling the beautiful truth when appropriate. When he thinks about it, Emma happens to be the best thing that’s happened to him. It would be easier not to have her, but in reality, he loves every single minute of being a father.

Even though it means sacrifice. He pulls out his keys and unlocks the door to their flat. It’s small, or what some would like to say cozy. But it works for them. It’s a one bedroom flat so Emma, princess that she is, ends up with the bedroom. Steve usually insists that Bucky take the pullout while Steve uses the cushions from the couch to sleep on the floor. Most of the time, Bucky gives in to Steve’s orders. Only when Steve’s lungs are acting up, do things reverse. 

The main room has the quote – ‘open floor plan’ – which just means that it serves as both the living room and kitchen. They rigged up a counter/bar to separate the two rooms with some old wood that they were able to scrounge off of the club owner. Steve even painted it – with superheroes since Emma is not the conventional little girl. The kitchen is functional, and the living room has what they need, the pullout, a television with Netflix streaming and a few odd tables. The bathroom next to Emma’s bedroom is tiny; the door when opened actually hits the toilet, stepping into the room is like doing hurdles. 

Bucky and Steve use the linen closet in the short hallway for their clothes. Steve rummages through it, finds his bag and pulls out what he needs for tonight. He usually keeps most of what he needs for his part time job at the club on the premises. What little he needs to bring, he throws in the bag. He quickly changes out of his paint spattered clothes, cleans up at the sink, and dresses in jeans and a hoodie. He pulls out one of the the pre-made dinner from the freezer he concocted on his rare day off and sets it on the kitchen counter. Bucky will know what to do. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he grabs his keys and stops at the counter to scribble a little note to Emma. 

Finally on his way, he stops at the art school before he journeys to the subway. “Hey Buck.”

Bucky busies himself stacking the pastels so that Steve can price tag them tomorrow. “Yep.”

“On my way, can you talk to Miss Darcy about Emma’s homework assignment?”

“Seriously, homework in kindergarten should be illegal,” Bucky says. 

“I know but-.”

“Will do,” Bucky says. “Have fun, mon cheri.” 

“Bucky-.”

Bucky waves him off and he heads out. His second job is the only thing really keeping them in the black. He checks his bag for his inhaler – the club can get smoky and his lungs hate it. He finds it and realizes he needs to get a refill. Grimacing, he shakes his head. How the hell he’s going to afford that he doesn’t know. Maybe tips will be good tonight, maybe he’ll work the floor tonight. He needs to keep his head in the game. He can do this. 

Learning how to love isn’t the only thing Kassie taught Steve to do. Sighing, he reaches the subway and jogs down the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

“Maybe I should just give up the company,” Tony says as he scratches at the dents in the table. 

Rhodey scoffs at him and leans back in his chair, arms folded tight across his chest. They’re in a bar, the music’s too loud, the meal’s too greasy, but at least here Tony can feel lost from the constant barrage of public notice. “That’s your company.”

“Obie and Ty would beg to differ,” Tony says and plays with a fry in his plate. He barely touched his cheeseburger and fries at all. 

“Your father built that company, you improved it, you can’t go giving it up to them,” Rhodey says. He has a beer in front of him while Tony’s drinking a lemonade. He’s been on the wagon for over a year now. 

“Well, once I marry Ty it will be theirs anyway,” Tony says and mimics Rhodey’s posture. 

“Why the hell you’re marrying that douche bag, I have no idea.” He sips his beer and grimaces. Tony doesn’t know whether or not he’s reacting to the taste of the beer or the general taste of the conversation.

“Not much I can do,” Tony says with a shrug. “Your military is going to sue the company into the ground if I don’t do something soon. Obie has the contacts in the Senate to quiet things down.”

“He’s forcing you to do this. Once they have control, they’ll settle the contracts and start making the guns again, Tony. Why are you doing this?” Rhodes says and Tony knows he’s being a friend, a good friend, but what can Tony tell him?

“I have to get the government off my back somehow, until I can launch a new line of products. The board doesn’t believe me, or believe in me unless the government stops their actions against me. Once it quiets down, and Obie can negotiate a way out of the mess, then I can get Obie and Ty to listen to me. Once they see the new line, it’ll be good.”

“It shouldn’t depend on you marrying Ty. They’re up to something, they’re coercing you.”

“You know I can’t make bullets anymore,” Tony says. “Not after Afghanistan.” He saw things there he will never get over. War zones are like that, regardless of where they are in the world, but being there, captive and afraid changed things for him. “I made a promise.”

“To change things, yeah I know, but is this the right way?”

Tony shakes his head. “I think I gotta go, sweetcheeks.” He stands up and tosses a few bucks on the table.

“Hey, stay,” Rhodey says. “I only have a forty eight hour leave.”

“And forty of it is to try and convince me to fill the contracts.”

“Tony, that’s not nice,” Rhodey says. “And it’s not true, you know I’m on your side, right?”

He stops before he escapes and studies his friend, and it’s true Rhodes has always defended him, has always been there to scoop him up after a drunken binge. “No, it probably isn’t. I just, I can’t do this right now.”

Rhodey catches his arm before he walks away. “Tones, you can’t trust Obie, you know that right. This stinks, all of it.”

Tony shakes his head. “The Senate also going to try and label me as a traitor. What choice do I have?” He lifts his chin. “You know what I saw, what I did. I’m not going down for doing the right thing here. I’m not going down for that.”

“Just be careful. I’m not so certain I would trust Obie or even Ty to have your best interests at heart.”

“Who said I trusted Ty? I’m just marrying him,” Tony says with a wink. He waves over his shoulder as he weaves through the crowd and makes his way out onto the street. Outside the bar and grill, he hustles his way to his Audi. He gave Happy the night off. Unfortunately that means he had to settle for a not so optimal parking spot along a side street. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he turns the corner and spots the car under the streetlamp. He does try and exhibit some signs of self-preservation. 

When he finally gets to his car, he digs out his keys and tries to ignore the shaking of his hands. He curses as he presses the button and misses, then tries again and the doors click open. He falls into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and leaning against the steering wheel. 

He’s not a traitor, but he’s not a coward either. Yet, he feels like the accusations, that the pressures plaster fragments of his brain all over the windshield. He braces himself against the wheel and tries to remember why he did the things he did. While he sits there, as the rain batters the car, his phone buzzes.

“Yeah?” he says and forces his voice to not quaver.

“Tony, you coming home?” 

It’s Ty, the supposed love of his life, his boyhood friend. The son of the man he considers a better father to him than Howard. “I’m, I was in a meeting. Not sure I’ll be home right away.”

“Come on, Tony, you know Dad will take care of it. Why are you mucking around with the business? You do realize once we tie the knot, there’s not going to be any more of this shit?” Ty says. His tone left playful and stirs into a mixture of exasperation and frustration with Tony. 

The last thing Tony needs is for Ty to be pissed at him, Ty angry is never a pretty sight. “I was meeting with a friend, that’s all.”

“That’s all he says.” Ty intakes a breath as if carrying the burden of Tony around has become his rock to bear. “What friend? Can you tell me that?”

“Just Rhodey, Jesus, Ty don’t fucking be like that,” Tony says and the anxiety and fear has turned over into resentment and anger. “I can have fucking friends, you know.”

“Hey, hey, I get it, man, I get it,” Ty says and he’s less condescending and laces his voice with that syrupy sweet tone that Tony has learned to despise over the years. Ty might be his friend, his lover, but he’s always been a bully dressed up like a prize bullfighter. “You need a little room to breathe. Gotta few pre-wedding jitters.”

It isn’t that, it isn’t that at all, but Tony grunts a non-committal sound that affirms Ty’s statement.

“Hey, you take the time you need. My little man is gonna get what he needs. You understand, Tony. I’m gonna take care of you. Haven’t I always taken care of you?” Ty says. 

“Yeah, Ty,” Tony says and tries for gentle but it comes out with a tinge of antipathy in it. Luckily, Ty doesn’t seem to mind.

“Well, you play with your friends, but come home. You know, my sausage needs it’s bun, sweetie pie.”

Tony laughs and Ty murmurs a few more innuendoes at him. They only serve to make Tony squirm. By the time Ty disconnects, Tony swallows back the bile. He cannot believe he has to do this, has to marry that ass. But then Ty has been a good friend over the years, he’s been with Tony all along since his school days. 

It doesn’t help that Ty always treats Tony like some damned damsel in distress. He acts like Tony is a weakling without a backbone. Since Tony came back from Afghanistan and decided he wanted to stop the war machine his father built, it only got worse. Obie coddling him and telling him that he just doesn’t have the stomach for war, that he should sit back and let others take the reins. 

What can he do now? The business is about to go under due to the government’s actions. The only way he can get out of the bind he’s in is to marry Ty. Obie made it perfectly clear; the Senate wouldn’t stop pressing for Tony’s head on a platter if Tony didn’t do exactly as Obie directed. Tony tries to believe that Obie’s acting in his best interests, but the questions keep percolating every day. It gets murkier all the time. 

He needs Pepper.

Pepper would help him sort things out. 

But when he was in Afghanistan, Pepper left the company and he can’t find her anywhere. Obie told him she wanted out and he opened the door for her. No forwarding address, no phone number, no email. No way to contact her at all. 

“Pepper, I need you,” he whispers as he watches the rain patter outside. 

As he sits there in the rain and wishes he could talk with Pepper again, he watches as the cars go by. It reminds him of something Happy gave to him. He searches around in the car for it, but then recalls he put the card in his wallet. Pulling it out, he flips through the bifold to find the small card with a stylized eagle emblem on it.

“Shield detective agency,” Tony says and realizes the address is not far from his present location. What harm would it do to scope out the place? He might even get a clue to where Pepper disappeared off to, might even find someone to listen to him. 

He guns the car a little more aggressively that he should and steers away from the curb. It takes a longer than it should to go the few blocks, but it’s raining and traffic is a bear at this time of the day. But he finds the address and it’s a small cubby hole of place notched between two larger buildings. It’s ridiculous.

“Probably doesn’t even have wifi,” Tony says but he climbs out of his car anyhow once he finds a parking spot not two doors down. He counts this as a good sign. He tucks up his collar and dashes to the door, with a knock because he’s not sure he should knock or not at a detective agency, he enters. “Hello?”

There’s a girl with long dark hair and even darker eyes standing at a counter. She hunched over a series of computer laptops but as soon as she looks up she smiles. “Hey.”

“Are you, is this the Shield Detective Agency?”

“One and only, boss man is still out on a case, but I can help you.” She points to the metal desk at the front of the store front. There’s an uncomfortable looking wooden chair on his side of the desk and a cozier looking desk chair with wheels on her side of the bare gray desk. 

He considers the crappy chair but shrugs and takes a seat. She brings one of the laptops over to the desk and settles in. “I’m Skye. Want some water or coffee?”

He looks around the empty storefront, doesn’t see where the coffee or water would come from and assumes it must be from inner offices through the single door in the back. He shakes his head. “You just moved in?”

“Nope,” she says and continues to tap away on her keyboard. She’s quick, her fingers fly over the board with skill. “Okay, so your name?”

They get over the essentials fairly quickly and she asks why he wants to hire the services of a detective agency.

“I’m missing someone.”

“Have you filed a missing persons report?” she asks. 

“No, I don’t think she’s actually missing, I just don’t know where she went,” Tony says and thinks maybe this is a bad idea. 

Narrowing her eyes, she glares at him. “This isn’t some domestic squabble. We don’t do stalker type stuff.”

“No, no,” he says and intakes a breath. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Yeah, you just told me, Tony Stark.”

He waits for her to put two and two together. When she just looks at him without reacting to the name at all, he sighs. “I’m Tony Stark, of Stark Industries. You do know about-.”

“Shit, I just thought that was an alias. We’ve had lots of Tony Starks come in here for various reasons.”

“Jesus,” Tony says and scrubs a hand through his hair. Climbing to his feet, he waves her off. “Listen, this was a bad idea. I- well, thank you for your time.”

“No, wait,” Skye says and rounds the desk. “Let me see what I can do. Who’s missing?”

Tony stands, empty handed and barren of any real direction. He doesn’t want to go home to Ty just yet. “Okay, my personal assistant, Virginia A.K.A Pepper Potts, left while I was gone. I was abducted in Afghanistan a few months back.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know that story.” Skye finds her way back to her seat as does he. She taps on the computer again.

He quirks an eyebrow at her. “Really, because I’m wondering how good this detective agency is when you didn’t even recognize me.”

She smirks at him. “You’d be surprised at the number of people walking around trying to be you. Anyhow, Pepper Potts. She’s the strawberry blonde right? I’ve seen her with you before the whole Middle East thing.”

“Yeah, she resigned while I was gone but didn’t leave a forwarding address,” Tony says. 

Skye squints at her. “Is that like Potts, to just leave while you were gone, missing?”

Tony bows his head and stares at his hands – they are still open, still empty, still wanting for something. “No, it isn’t.”

“So, do you think harm came to her or she didn’t leave of her own accord?”

“Maybe, I don’t know, I just need to talk to her,” Tony says and the thought of Pepper in danger spikes his anxiety and he fists his hands, pushing it away. 

“Okay, okay,” Skye says and flicks a few more keystrokes. “Listen, the detectives, Phil Coulson and Coulson will be in tomorrow. Would you like to speak with them? I could set you up with the owner, Nick Fury. He will be able to figure out if we should have Coulson or May review your case.”

“Okay, that sounds good,” Tony says. “And what do you do around here?”

“Are you flirting with me, Mister Stark?” Skye says and her eyes sparkle as if she’s complimented by the idea.

“Only if it will get me the earliest appointment you have available.”

She laughs. “That would be eight a.m. tomorrow.”

“Hmm, no, that’s not possible. I don’t function before 11.”

“Done,” Skye says with a smile. 

He stands and she follows him, her hands in her jeans pockets. “Do you need a credit card?”

“We’ll take all the information when you come back.”

Nodding, he turns to leave and then realizes something. Before he opens the door, he says to her, “You know, you never told me what you do around here.”

“No, no I didn’t.” She wrinkles up her nose with a broad smile and gives him a finger wave. He salutes her and leaves the storefront. 

He finds himself lighter, happier than before he stopped in the little storefront. Maybe finding Pepper will be a good way to center things, to get a grip on his life. He’s missed her these many months. She’d always been a calming influence to his eccentric and eclectic way of looking at the world. They made a good pair, a nice partnership.

When he climbs back in his car, he drives back to the Tower with an easier feel about him. The constriction, the constant reminder that his heart will be forever damaged seems a distant thing. He sits through traffic without the pending anger he always approaches it with and ends up back at the Tower in little time. He goes to the private elevator from the underground garage and jingles his keys as JARVIS answers his call for the lift.

“Sir, you asked me to inform you when Mister Ty Stane was present in the penthouse.”

“Yes, JARVIS?”

“He is.” Tony tells himself that he’s imagining the disdain in the artificial intelligence’s voice. He frowns. “What’s he up to?”

“He is currently drinking some bourbon and watching pornography.”

Tony rolls his eyes; Ty is a fucking sex addict sometimes. Coughing to clear his throat and his thoughts, Tony says, “Good, thanks.” Briefly he considers bypassing his orders to go back to the penthouse and side trip it to the workshop, but eventually he needs to see Ty. They are best friends, going to be married. He shouldn’t dislike the idea of seeing his lover.

The car doors open and he walks into the penthouse. Ty has his feet up on the marble topped table and he’s sitting on the leather couch with his pants unzipped and his hand on his dick. He’s slurping bourbon and groaning as he watches a man on the big screen television fuck a woman doggy style.

“Christ, Ty, really?” Tony says as he walks into the living room. “That’s a twenty thousand dollar leather couch you’re ruining.”

Ty snickers at him but strokes himself harder. “I wouldn’t have to jerk off if my baby was around more often.” He balances the glass of bourbon on the arm of the couch. Reaching out he makes grabby hands at Tony. “Come on, baby, let me fuck you open, wide open. You like it when I fuck you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Like you don’t tie one on occasionally,” Ty says. He licks his lips and waves at Tony while smearing pre-come over the tip of his dick. It sickens Tony. “Come on, sit, fuck yourself. You know you want it, you little cock-slut.”

Tony blanches and turns away. “Fuck off, Ty.”

There’s a shuffling and then a clatter as the glass tips off the arm of the chair and shatters. “Shit, fuck.” 

Tony turns around to see Ty shoving his dick back in his pants and pointing at the mess of the alcohol and glass shards all over the tiled floor. 

“Crap, look what you made me do,” Ty says. “Jesus Christ, Tony.”

“I didn’t make you do anything, Ty. You’re the one who can’t keep it in your pants and has to sit here in the middle of the day jerking off to bad porn.” 

Ty glances at the screen where the woman is making ridiculous noises as the man pounds into her. “What? You a little jealous I like to get off looking at some pussy?”

“Jesus, Ty, no, I’m not-.”

“Yeah, you are,” Ty closes the distance between them. “Come on Tony, I’m sorry. Let’s go have a nice dinner, I’ll romance you.”

Somehow, it sounds more perverse than it ever has. When did Ty’s voice become an irritant to him? When he came home from Afghanistan and Pepper was gone and there was only the press and the questions – Ty had been there. He’d clung to Ty. “I’m-.”

Ty sidles up to him, cups his hand still stained with pre-come on the side of Tony’s face, lining his lower lip with his thumb. Tony can taste his bitter come. “Baby, Tones, come on. I want to fuck you tonight.”

“When did it become fucking and not making love, Ty?”

Ty yanks his hand away and snarls at Tony. “Christ, you’re like a god damned bitch, you know that. Making love? You are such a fucking sissy, talk about who the fag here is.”

“Ty, you’re stepping over the line.” Tony hates the fact that all the light, breezy feel he had earlier this afternoon abandons him in the face of his fiancé. 

“I just want to fuck and you come in here and have to be so damned judgmental. You’re like my fucking father every day, you know that?” Ty says and stalks out of the room. 

For a half dozen steps Tony follows him but before he turns down the hallway toward the bedrooms, he halts. He doesn’t know why, but something elusive grabs him, holds him as he stands there and wonders how the hell he got himself into this mess. Rhodes is right, as soon as the Stanes get a hold of his company they are going to change the direction of it. It’s going to revert back to being a war machine again. No matter what Ty promises him, Tony knows, and has been ignoring the truth. 

He starts again, intending to confront Ty, but then JARVIS stops him. “Sir, Mister Ty Stane is currently in his own bedroom.”

“Okay?” Tony says. That’s not the best sign, since they’ve been sharing a bedroom since before they got engaged. Ty always sleeps with Tony in his bedroom. He hogs the bed and sometimes smells badly. 

“Sir, he’s currently finishing what he started in the living room. I wasn’t sure if you would be interested in participating or not.”

Tony stares at the door, and can barely hear Ty grunting as he jerks off. Over the sounds of Ty he can hear the same crappy porno as well. Rolling his eyes, he shakes his head and moves off to his own bedroom. He stops there only to change clothes and get into his jeans and t-shirt. Once he’s finished he has JARVIS order him some take out and heads to the workshop. He has more work to do on his articulated joints project.

The music instantly beats hard and high as he walks into the room. “Oh JARVIS you know me too well.”

“Yes, sir.”

He smiles and throws up the schematics of the limb prosthetics he’s been working on. While in Afghanistan he saw enough of the troops and the native population scarred by explosive devices of all kinds to not want to change their circumstances. After being held, tortured, and interrogated for three months by a splintered group, Tony had been rescued by Rhodes and his division. He saw what happened to those men and women trying to help him. He would never forget it.

“Even if I end up in prison for it,” Tony says and continues to work into the night on his project. Over the course of the night, he fleshes out the details of the joints. He has issues with powering each joint. He thinks they should each have individual power cells but that makes the whole thing more complicated as well as too heavy to handle. 

Sketching out his plans for the circuits he frowns at the lack of artistry. This is going to be a work of art, this is going to change things for those who have lost limbs or who have been born without limbs. He’s going to revolutionize the whole medical industry. But he wants to do it with style.

He slumps back on the stool and thinks about how to pretty it up. Right now it looks insectoid and bulky. He needs something sleek, trim, and maybe even a little bit flashy. He needs art – Pepper would be able to help him with that – find his way to art – or an artist.

Then he thinks about the art class he signed up for – which was just stupid on his part. He’d been following the one guy with the missing arm. How it twitched, how the nerves angled under his t-shirt. He followed him to the art school and hung around, peeked inside and then escaped. He did it for a few days until he went inside.

Why the hell he ended up signing up for an art class is beyond him. It was stupid and now he has to deal with it. He could just not show up, but he paid for it, and the teacher is hot as hell.

“But I’m engaged,” Tony says and scrubs at hand over his face. He needs to just break up the company and sell it off. That’s what he should do, get rid of it. God, he needs a drink; he needs Pepper.


	3. Chapter 3

When Steve arrives at the club, the bouncer is already turning people away. It’s an exclusive club where members are seated in the front and the rabble ends up in the back tables along the outer perimeter. The view of the stage is unobstructed from everywhere, but the up front and personal seats are all owned by the members. Thor – the guy embodies his namesake - turns people away as Steve salutes him and enters through the employee only entrance. 

The door leads to a narrow corridor that bypasses the main theater of the club, skirting the circumference and leading to the backstage area. It’s dimly lit with bare bulbs and exposed joists. He finds his way to the changing room, checks the calendar to find the current routines they will be showcasing tonight. The dance and performance is his favorite part. He only mills around in the crowd when they are especially tight on money. 

“Like this month,” he mutters as he finds his cubby and smiles to some of the other dancers. Clint looks to already be here, since Steve spots his bag hanging from his hook. Steve glances around but his fellow dancer is nowhere to be found. Clint is one of the few dancers who knows Steve outside of the stage. 

He doesn’t like to expose his family to this side of his life. He worries that his legitimate art school business would suffer if the parents discovered that Steve danced – in an exotic club. Some would forgive and forget, but most would shun his art school and then where would he be? He’d have to dance full time and, while he doesn’t see anything wrong with dancing, he wants to be home with Emma at night to help her with her homework, and check out the latest superhero movies. 

According to the rooster they are doing the new routine. A patriotic romp with Steve as the lead. The boss, Hill, choreographed the entire routine, and they’ve been working on it for weeks. It isn’t easy adding in the practice time to his schedule and there are weeks when he runs on coffee and wishes, but it pays good and he can see the smile on Emma’s face when she gets to go to the private kindergarten.

Especially since-.

He closes that thought off. He’s not going there. There’s nothing wrong with his daughter. He sniffles a little and rolls his eyes. Seriously, the thought of Emma’s ailments shouldn’t send him down the rabbit hole, but it does. Every single time.

“I was sickly as a kid,” he says and reminds himself how his Ma would bolster him up. He wouldn’t have believed he could succeed without his mother’s firm and guiding hand. He still misses her, everyday.

“Hey, you gonna get ready or are you starting the dance naked?” Clint says as he steps up to his cubby. He’s already outfitted in his dress uniform. They are performing the Captain USA routine tonight and he’ll be taking center stage. He’ll get a ton of tips, if he’s lucky, and if he agrees to work the floor after the dance. 

“I’m getting there, Barton,” he says and pulls out the undergarment. It will make the whole routine. It looks like a one piece woman’s bathing suit, but it’s Steve’s size and it accentuates his pectorals, his wide shoulders, and his narrow waist and ass. He pulls the Captain dress uniform over it. It is a parody of a World War Two uniform which might be a little sacrilegious in some ways. 

After he gets the bodice with panties over his g-string, he slips on the uniform. The shoes are the hardest part, because they are designed to look like ordinary men’s shoes, but with a quick kick to the side, they turn into beautiful silver pumps. Hill had to look far and wide to find ones that would fit his feet. 

He’s prepped and ready by the time his fellow dancers Clint, Loki, Sam, and Pietro are going through the routine again in small snatches back stage. He doesn’t usually practice right beforehand, it makes him jittery if he does. Instead, he closes his eyes like any athlete and goes through the movements of the dance in his head.

By the time Clint slaps him on the arm, he’s gone through the hardest parts of the choreography several times. 

“You with us?” Clint says and hops up and down. The man can never sit still before a performance. 

“As I’ll ever be,” Steve says and stands. 

“Your favorite is in the audience tonight.”

“Hmm?” Steve says as he stows the rest of his belongings in his cubby.

“Justin Hammer and his pal, Vanko,” Clint says with a raised brow.

Steve inwardly curses. “Great.” He can’t hide the disdain from his tone. He really wanted to work the floor a little tonight. They need the extra cash to get through to the end of the month. 

“He’d pay a bundle for a little time with you,” Clint says.

“Yeah, and it’s money I’m never going to see because I’m never going to agree to it,” Steve says.

“Why do you insist on this foolishness, Captain?” Loki leans against the wall of wooden cubbies. His arms crossed. He looks devilish in his dress uniform with his long dark hair and pale complexion. 

“I’m not sure what you mean?” 

“You are like a man out of time. You come here, dance naked with us and then play the prude.” Loki snickers. “If I were you I would simply release your inner Catholic demons and enjoy the modern life.”

“I’m not even sure what that means,” Steve says. He has no idea how Thor puts up with his brother. “But you have Thor here, lording over everyone to make sure you don’t have to put up with Hammer or Vanko and their disgusting habits. Some of us are on our own.”

“My brother does not rule me.”

“And doesn’t everyone know that,” Sam says with a roll of his eyes. Sam and Steve are close, both of them have seen action in the military.

“Children,” Pietro says in a thick Eastern European accent. “Pleaze, we are about to go on stage.”

“Okay, then,” Steve starts and the music calls them out to the stage. Before following the rest of the crew toward the curtains, Steve reaches into the back of his cubby, grabs his inhaler and doses himself. He needs it for the dance. Tossing the medicine after he’s done he shakes his head once and heads toward the stage.

The music beats a heavy bass, and the choreography reflects it with jaunting marching. It starts in silhouette. In a row, the others high step it out onto stage. There’s a roar of appreciation from the audience. He waits just off stage right for his cue to enter. 

A crescendo hits the musical score and then the lighting flashes and darkens, as if the stage is a battle scene. He never thought it looked anything like it, if it had he would have protested to Hill. Clint, Sam and himself are all veterans and don’t need to fall into flashbacks during a performance. When the lights fall dark, he steps out on stage and then the lighting explodes and he throws himself into the dance. 

He has a mock rifle as he spin about and fights off the unseen enemy. As he does the audience claps and whistles. They are waiting for the big finale. It comes after they’ve gone through the routine of Star Spangled Man and then men rip their uniforms off. He takes center stage as he spins in his heels and then world becomes a blur around him. 

The screams from the audience thrill and he works the line with a renewed enthusiasm. Maybe he can spend time on the floor tonight; there are a lot of other patrons than Hammer and Vanko. He swoops into his final kick as the others fall to the floor and he tears away at the bodice and panties to reveal only the g-string.

When the music works into a rendition of God Bless America, only hard rock style, the audience is on its feet and he’s finishing off. When the lights drop and the curtain comes down his fellow dancers jump up from their places on the floor and clap.

“Wow, man, you worked that, you been holding out on us in practice,” Sam says.

Clint takes out the earbuds that feed him the music directly to his damaged ears. “Seriously, I haven’t seen you that into dancing in a long while, what gives?”

Steve accepts a towel from one of the stagehands. “Thanks.” He wipes at his face. “Nothing, just need to keep my head in the game.” Or at least, that’s what Hill told him in their little face to face recently. She hadn’t been impressed by his lackadaisical performance as she put it. “Just trying to do my best.”

“Give it the old army all, huh?” Sam says and slaps him on the shoulder. He smiles at Sam but then moves to put the bodice and panties back on as well as his pumps. 

“You’ve changed your mind, good Captain?” Loki says as he puts on his partial uniform. 

“None of your business, Loki,” Steve says as Pietro chuckles in the background. Steve throws his fake rifle at him and his friend only bats it away. 

“Come on, then, work the floor with us,” Clint says and he slips out onto the floor. Steve inhales once and Sam holds onto his shoulder.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam says.

“I know I don’t, but I need to do it,” Steve replies.

“Bills?”

“Yeah.” Steve frowns. “I got a new student today, but it’s not going to cover the mortgage when it comes in and Schmidt’s isn’t going to-.”

Sam stops him and points to the left side of the audience. “Go that way. Most of the good patrons sit on that side anyhow. Vanko and Hammer are sitting in the center. Ignore their catcalls when you walk by and you should be good.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

He steps out and starts to move through the audience. There are rules to this part of the night. He’s courteous but tries to be flirty, but he never thinks he pulls off the latter. Clint told him not to worry about it, the red of his blush does the job for him. Several of the patrons are women and he loves to interact with them because they aren’t as expectant, but they are handys. He has to constantly tell them the merchandise is off limits unless they pay the price.

Rules are no touching unless a lap dance is paid for – he charges an extreme amount because he hates doing them so much. One table of women stop him and he’s pulled over to do the lap dance for a woman who is getting married in week. They’ve pooled their money for her to have one. 

He throws a towel down on her lap that a passing waiter tosses to him and he straddles her. She’s a little thing with dirty blonde hair in a ponytail, freckles over the bridge of her nose and big blue eyes. He’s careful not to crush her. Trying to remember everything Clint taught him as well as his memories of Kassie, he gives her a good dance and a fine farewell to the single life. She’s breathless and blushing by the time he leaves. All the ladies offer him tips. He shoves the tips in a passing waiter’s tip cup when he leaves them. They will all share the tips from the floor. The price of the lap dance will be split with management. 

He makes it around the stage and is almost to his destination on the left side when a hand grabs him by the waist and drags him back. He’s a big guy, he can handle himself, but he hates to make a scene and he always tries to be polite.

It’s Vanko. His thick sausage like fingers press into Steve’s waist and tear at the bodice of his costume. 

“Sir, touching isn’t permitted without payment for a lap dance,” Steve says and keeps his anger in check. He really doesn’t want to give this guy the time of day. 

Justin Hammer, who’s sipping his drink and laughing, salutes them with a raised glass. “Come on baby, we got the loot. We’ll give you a good tip.”

“What’s going on over here?” Maria Hill says as she steps up to the table. She dressed like she’s a secret agent, with a handset and a leather body suit. It’s appealing but a little strange. It tends to intimidate most of the audience to pay attention to her rules. 

Vanko and Hammer are the exceptions.

“We’re just negotiating a price,” Hammer says and smiles. It sickens Steve. Vanko’s paw still has Steve by the waist.

Hill glares at him and takes her bully club to slash downward on Vanko’s arm. Her strike is soft enough not to damage but hard enough to sting. He yanks back his hand, releasing Steve.

“No touching without payment.”

“Or agreement,” Steve adds and Hill frowns at him, but she doesn’t remark.

Hill shares a look with Hammer who forks over an enormous amount of cash for the dance and for the tip. “Will that be enough for his pretty ass to sit on my friend’s dick?”

“Sir, we do not prostitute ourselves here,” Thor says. He must have seen the commotion from across the bar and joined them.

“Okay, okay,” Hammer says and raises his hands in mock surrender. “A nice, and innocent lap dance.” He emphasizes with a slur on the word innocent.

“Captain?” Hill says, none of them use their real names on the floor.

He glances at the pile of cash. It would help him, and the tip is huge. Since they split the tip with everyone even the waiters and the bartender, he shouldn’t be selfish. He should take it. Clint needs new hearing aids, and Sam’s got an issue with his niece. Then there’s Pietro whose sister has been having health issues. He doesn’t have the right to say no. 

He nods and only grimaces to himself.

“Okay, then,” Hill says as Thor steps away and she snatches up the money. “We’ll get your cut at the end of the night. Enjoy.” The last she says to Vanko who is patting his lap with his mouth hanging wide open.

Remembering he’s gone to war and found battles with only his wits and his hands when the artillery gave out, Steve readies himself and smiles. He places the towel down and then slides onto Vanko’s lap. Hammer smirks.

“Oh, he looks pretty on you, really pretty.”

Steve begins his routine, it isn’t something he likes to do at all, because it feels too personal and he always feels a little more dirty when it is someone like Vanko who sneaks a feel here or there as Steve gyrates on his lap. 

“Oh baby, this makes me hard,” Hammer says. “And that’s saying something cause I like a good pussy on my lap, not a queen like you got there.” He palms himself as Vanko leans into Steve.

He can feel the man’s breath on his chest, his face is only centimeters away from Steve’s muscles and as Steve moves and lays his arms along his shoulders the man groans under him. 

“You, baby, you sweet,” Vanko says and sidles closer if that is even possible. He smells of cigars, oil, and bourbon. “Gonna fuck you. Gonna fuck you blind one day. Sweet bird.”

Steve keeps quiet, he’s learned over the years to not encourage customers like Vanko. When he’s done, and slips off of Vanko’s lap, the man reaches out and fingers the cleft of Steve’s ass. He jumps back.

“Sir, that’s not allowed.”

Thor is right there again, watching and hulking over the man.

“Sorry, Sweet bird, you carry simple man like me away.”

Steve moves off and decides he’s had enough for the night. Thor follows him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yeah, I’m, I’m fine.” He escapes to the dressing room and finds his cubby. Sinking down onto the wooden bench, he places his elbows on his knees and hangs his head. It’s good money, he’s using a talent Kassie taught him. But it’s not what he was made for. He digs through his cubby and finds his phone. He scrolls through his list of contacts, searching for an anchor and then he finds her. He doesn’t press connect, but stares at the phone and wonders what the hell he’s doing. 

He’s lost all of his self-respect, what kind of role model parent is he? AS he sits in his self imposed pity party, Sam drops down beside him.

“Hey, man.”

“Hey.”

“You’ve been staring at that number for like five minutes. What’s he got?”

“Hmm?” Steve looks up from the phone cradled in his hand.

“The guy or girl, what’s so special about him or her?”

“Oh no,” Steve says and stows the phone. “Peggy, she was a friend, a good friend.”

“Was?” Sam waits. He’s thrown on a t-shirt and sweats in between sets.

“We had a date,” Steve murmurs. 

“Don’t tell me you stood her up, feel asleep for like seventy years or some shit?”

“No, no,” Steve says and rubs the exhaustion from his eyes. “We got sent out on our mission, you know, the mission. The big one. When I got back and Bucky-.”

“Yeah, I get you, man,” Sam says. “How’s he doing?”

“Better now that he’s out of the hospital,” Steve says. “He’s looking for a job.” 

“That’s great.” Sam slaps him on the back. “See, things are looking up.”

Steve frowns. “Yeah, but I never imagined I’d be wearing heels.”

Sam snickers. “I don’t think any of us aspired to this, my friend. Plus, those are not heels, those are pumps. And anyhow, ultimate fighting doesn’t tip as well.”

Steve laughs. He needs to clean up and get ready for the second show. The second show is usually better than the first because he’s into the swing of things but tonight he feels dirty about the whole things and ends up screwing up the shoes. Taking the shoes apart with only a few flicks takes talent and concentration – his is just not there.

Hill doesn’t read him the riot act, only gives him his cut of the money and apologizes for Vanko. He shrugs, says goodbye after the second show and changes. He’s done working the floor tonight. A finger up his ass isn’t something he’s happy about.

He dresses and takes the subway home. It’s a long ride and he doesn’t get back until the pre-dawn hours. When he does, Bucky is snoring on the couch with Nat tangled in his one good arm. He goes to their makeshift counter, being quiet, and counts out the cash they need for the household, then he rolls up the rest and puts it into the tin can Bucky’s using to save for a new prosthesis. 

“You know, he knows you do that.”

Steve startles and turns around to see Natasha standing next to him. “Geez, what are you a spy or something.”

She shrugs and points to the money he’s stuffing into the old coffee can. “He knows that’s yours.”

“So?” 

“He’s just going to give it back to you.”

“And I’m going to put it right back in the coffee can. I promised to help him,” Steve says and yawns.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty.”

“You weren’t there,” Steve says and remembers how Peggy came to the hospital to console him when Bucky was still in intensive care. 

“Still, he doesn’t blame you,” Natasha says. “And you both got medals out of it.”

“Fat lotta good that did us.” Both Steve and Natasha turn around to see Bucky wide awake on the couch. “How’d it go tonight?”

“Great until a creep stuck his finger in my ass,” Steve says and tugs off his jacket.

“Doesn’t Hill have rules about that?” Bucky says.

“Yeah she does, and I don’t want to talk about it,” Steve says and throws himself onto the couch next to Bucky. He’s not looking forward to sleeping on the floor. “How was Emma?”

“Good, she was in really good spirits today. Miss Darcy said she drew a lot and participated a lot.” 

“Great,” Steve says and rubs at his eyes.

“Hey, why don’t you,” Bucky says as he climbs to his feet. “Get some rest and Nat and I will head to old man’s Linder’s bakery and pick up some fresh bagels as they come out of the oven.”

He wants to protest, he should protest, but he can’t find the energy. “Okay, okay.” Bucky pushes him and he falls, face first into the couch. 

“Sleep, you lug.”

He raises a hand without opening his eyes. “Night.”

“More like morning,” Natasha says and they disappear.

He’s not even sure he moves at all and then the next thing he realizes is that there is a little warm body perched on his chest playing with his hair. “Daddy, you stink.”

“Hmm?” He squeezes his eyelids and then opens them. Emma with her dark ringlets smiles down at him. “Hey Sweetie pie.”

“Daddy, you stink.”

“I think you already said that,” Steve says and gathers her close to him and kisses her cheek. She giggles but fidgets around. 

“You smell bad.”

“Ly. I smell badly.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, you smell bad.” She hops up and out of his reach. She doesn’t have her braces on her legs, but she’s able to get around by using the furniture to prop her up.

“Well, Daddy needs to shower,” he says and sits up. He peers at the clock. He thinks he might have gotten an hour or so of sleep. That will have to do until this afternoon when he can nap in the art school before the adult classes.

Instead of heading directly to the bathroom, he goes to the bedroom and finds the braces for Emma’s legs and her crutches. When he brings them out she begins to wail. “No, no, no. I don’t wanna.”

He sets them aside with a large inhale and exhale. Sweeping her into his arms, he kisses her forehead and says, “Okay, but remember for school.”

“Okay, only for school.”

“Not only for school.”

“Only for school.”

He deposits her on the stool and begins setting about to prepare her breakfast just as Bucky and Nat return. Emma screeches in delight which does nothing for the headache Steve is currently brewing in his head. 

“Hey, you little booger, I got you your favorite bagels and cream cheese.”

“Strawberries?”

“No, strawberries, she’s allergic,” Steve says and grabs the bags from Natasha and starts pulling out the groceries. “I told you that a thousand times.”

“I didn’t get the strawberry one, Steve, settle down. I got the onion one.” He screws up his face at Emma as she cries.

“Yucky.”

“Okay, you little monster, I got you something good,” Bucky smiles at her and tears the paper bag away from Steve. He pulls out and reveals a tub of lime flavored cream cheese.

“Ugh,” Steve says.

“Tastes good, Daddy,” Emma says and claps her hands. She looks like an angel to him. 

“You’re a heathen,” Steve says but takes the tub anyhow and gets the bagel sliced.

“Go, you stink,” Bucky says knocks him in the elbow. 

“You sure?” He knows that taking care of Emma with her limitations can be frustrating to someone like Bucky, who is still trying to accept his own newly acquired limitation. 

“Yeah, yeah, scram already.”

“’Cram already, Daddy!” Emma giggles and Steve kisses her on the nose and heads off to their tiny bathroom to shower. 

After showering and preparing for the day, he gets Emma finished up with breakfast, fights her to put on the braces, and then dresses her for the day. Natasha leaves to get ready for her job and Bucky comes in to help with Emma.

Once they finish and Emma is in her braces, Steve helps her down the stairs of the apartment, which is always a trial since she wants to do it herself (and he wants to encourage her) but it takes a long time and they are always running behind the clock. They get to the street and have to walk the block to the small private kindergarten he pays an arm and a leg. It is worth every single dime when he sees the bright smile Emma gives her teacher.

“Miss Darcy,” Emma says. She scrambles forward, nearly pitching over, but Darcy greets her at the door to the small brownstone. “Butterfly kisses.”

Darcy leans down and allows Emma to kiss her eyelids and then toddle off. Steve watches as she goes. “Bye, Sweetheart, have a good day.”

“Love you Daddy.”

He’s able to swing her up in his arms and kiss her a thousand times (he wants to do it a thousand times) before she protests and kicks her legs at him. “Okay, okay.”

“Melvin might see.”

“Who’s Melvin?” Steve asks and Darcy sidles up to him.

“One of the new students. Emma and Melvin are having a little battle over who the best superhero is.”

“Who’s in the running?” Steve says and he releases Emma and she races, as fast as she can muster, toward the classroom. 

“I think it might be between Captain Underpants and the Phineas and Ferb.”

He frowns. “I didn’t think they were superheroes.”

She shrugs. “Who am I to doubt the wisdom of five year olds?”

He laughs and then says his goodbyes again. Returning to the art school, he spends a good amount of his day categorizing inventory and paying off bills. He doesn’t have many day time classes during the school year, only a few a week for those children that are homeschooled. Today his classes start at three in the afternoon. By the time he finishes up the inventory and pricing, he’s about ready to fall over from exhaustion. He can’t remember the last time he got a full eight hours or even six hours of sleep. 

Bucky has a doctor’s appointment so he bugs out around ten. Steve decides at eleven he’ll close up the art supplies and framing part of the school, and bed down on the ratty couch for a bit. But when he steps up to the door, he finds Tony Stark staring in. He opens the door and says, “Your class isn’t until tonight.”

“Yeah, about that, I want my money back. I decided not to take it.”

He lets out a breath of air. He’d already used the money to pay off some of the inventory. “Come on in.” He’ll have to steal from the earnings he made last night to pay back Stark.

Stark ducks in and looks around the school front. “Where’s your friend?”

Heading straight to the back past the easels and chairs to where his desk is set up, Steve looks over his shoulder at Stark. “Hmm?”

“Your friend, where’d he go?”

“Bucky?” Steve says. “I don’t- is that why you’re here?”

“No, I but – no.” Stark glares at him like he just spit in his face.

“Okay, I need to go get the money from upstairs it will only be a minute. Will you take cash?” 

“Cash, who uses cash anymore? Only hookers and drug dealers,” Stark says.

“Well, will you or not?” 

“Okay, yeah sure. I guess I can use it for tips or something.” Tony says and still paces around as if he’s waiting for Bucky to appear from a corner or something.

“He’s not here,” Steve says before he leaves to retrieve the money. He counts out the cash and frowns. He guesses he can go without his inhaler for a few more days. He needs to pay for Emma’s doctor’s appointment at the end of the week.

When he returns Stark is playing a beat on the edge of his desk. He plops the money down in front of Stark. “Can I ask why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you decided not to take the class?” 

“Shit, I-.” Stark glances everywhere but at Steve. “Okay, I’ll come clean. I didn’t really come in here to talk about an art class. I wanted to see your friend.”

While Bucky always defended Steve when they were younger and Steve was considerably smaller, the roles have been reversed by circumstances and an ugly attack in Afghanistan. “Why do you want to see Bucky? Are you with the press or something?”

Stark raises his hands. “No, I’m Tony Stark, I thought we established that.”

“So why do you want to see Bucky?”

He rubs at the back of his neck and then says, “I can tell you guys are close, can I confide in you?”

“Are you trying to sell me something, because artillery is not much use in an art school.”

“Haha, funny, you’re a funny guy.” Stark looks a little put out by Steve’s comment.

He backtracks, “You needed Bucky for?”

Stark scratches at his temple and shakes his head. “Just forget it.”

Shrugging because he’s too tired to really care so much what a rich eccentric wants. “Okay, fine. Here’s your money.” He counts it out and then remembers that Stark doesn’t like to be handed things. Without a word, he simply pushes it on the desk over to him. 

“Thanks, I-.” He goes to pick up the cash and then says, “Forget it. I’ll see you tonight.”

“What?” Steve says, thoroughly confused. Maybe Bucky is right, maybe the guy is a freak.

“I have an appointment, I forgot. I have to go.” He points to the money as if it is contaminated. “We’ll settle this tonight.”

He escapes before Steve can say anything else. Steve stares at the money, and then at the door. “Okay, maybe I’m so tired I’m imagining things now.” He decides to lock up and take that very much needed nap.


	4. Chapter 4

Well that was embarrassing. Tony wipes a hand over his face and absently wonders if the speculation in the press is correct. Maybe the lasting effects of his experience in Afghanistan are causing a slow meltdown of his mental capacity. He wanted to go and discuss his newest developments in prosthetics with Art god's friend, but he completely fragmented in there. He couldn't put two words together in a coherent manner.

Maybe it's the fact that it is too early in the day and he needs more coffee and he has to go and deal with the detective agency about Pepper. It's Pepper he knows it. He might have been a little in love with her and he might have let her go because he probably wasn't the right guy for her, but he always thought she would be by his side, one way or the other. Now, she's gone, without a trace. When he quizzed Obie on her departure from the company, Stane only shrugged his shoulders.

"There wasn't much for her to do here, when you were gone." Stane had put his arm around Tony's shoulders and jostled him a bit. "We thought you were dead, and thank the good Lord in heaven that you weren't. But she was your personal assitant, Tones, and she didn't have anything to do. She asked to go and so we let her."

"With no forwarding address?" Tony had said. "Wouldn't the company need her forwarding address for tax purposes?"

Stane only frowned at him and shook his head. "You gotta let the past stay where it is. If I let the past wrap me around a pole what do you think I would do? With Ty's mother dead, and your parents? I'd be a sobbing mess. You gotta let this girl go. Tell me you don't still have a thing for her?"

"No," Tony had said and pushed away. "No, it isn't like that. Pepper and I weren't, sure we tried to date, but it didn't work out that way. We were better as friends."

"Friendships come and go, boy. Family, now family, that is where you should concentrate," Stane had replied and placed that huge paw of his on Tony's shoulder.

After he had accepted it, and now as he tells the whole story to the most stone faced men he's ever met in his life, he thinks he wants to escape into the hidey hole that Pepper's disappeared.

One of the men at the detective agency, Tony discusses Pepper’s disappearance, must think he's a pirate because he wears a patch over his left eye. He was introduced as the owner of the establishment, Nick Fury. His friend or partner or someone is Coulson - no first name apparently. Tony surmises that Coulson is supposed to offer the friendly face while Fury gives the face of disbelief mixed in with unadulterated anger.

He waits for either of them to react to his story. The stoic faced one that Tony is almost sure is supposed to present a fatherly, nurturing figure to him only blinks a few times and the boss man glares.

“Okay then,” Tony says and gets up to leave the detective agency.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

“I think I’m leaving, because this is obviously a waste of my time,” Tony says and digs out his phone to check the time, 11:05 am. He cannot believe he actually got here on time, and, on top of that, wasted getting out of bed early this morning to sit here and be glared at.

“Sit your ass down,” Fury says and Tony startles.

“Are you really supposed to say that to a client? I mean what happened to the idea that the customer is always right?”

“It ceased to exist when the customer acted like a dumb ass.”

Tony does a double take and decides all of this is a mistake and he should definitely leave. What if this place is just a front for the paparazzi? “Nope, I’m leaving.”

“Mister Stark, sit down, please.” This comes from the nice cop or agent or Coulson – all the same. 

“Why?”

“Because we’re not a detective agency, and Ms. Virginia Potts is not missing,” Coulson says and Tony startles, he narrows his eyes and it is his turn to glower at them. “Please.”

Tony drags the metal chair across the tiles enough to scratch out ear biting sound and then he drops down in it. Elbows on the desk between them, Tony says, “You better start talking now, because I’m about three seconds from the door.”

It is Coulson again who takes the lead while Fury sits back and literally eyes Tony, watching him as if he’s scrutinizing data with that one eye.

“We’re not a detective agency, we’re from a government agency called SHIELD.”

“And what’s that stand for?” Tony asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” Coulson says and bullies forward. “We’re charged with protecting against terrorist acts either homegrown or international. Look at it this way, we keep the peace through an international organization-.”

“This is all the conspiracy theories I’ve ever heard about wrapped up into one very funked out front,” Tony says. He stands up. “Who are you working for? People Magazine? Entertainment Weekly? Fox News?”

Coulson doesn’t break a sweat but says, “We know where Ms Potts is Mister Stark, but right now, she’s in too much danger to reveal that.”

“If you lay a hand on her,” Tony says as he leaps to his feet again, and steps forward but Fury stands, his black leather coat shifting as he does like a god damned batman cape or some shit. 

“Sit down, shut up, and learn something,” Fury says and points to the chair. When Tony hesitates Fury huffs. “I am not going to give you another chance, Stark. Ms. Potts is safe and will continue to be safe, but you do not need to know where she is or what she’s doing.”

Tony settles back down again and quirks an eyebrow. “Well, then say I believe this intriguing although poorly put together front story, what’s going on and why is Pepper gone?”

Fury leans forward and says, “What’s going on is that your little stint over in Afghanistan was not an accidental abduction. Your rescue was carried out by our finest in the military because someone in your company is selling secrets to terrorists. Before you came home, we contacted Ms. Potts to help us, but she was threatened and we needed to move her to safety.”

“She’s all right?”

Coulson smiles and it feels fatherly and a little creepy at the same time. It’s disarming. “Yes, she’s fine.”

“So now, you want me to help you? How do you know it’s not me?”

“Is it you?” Fury asks.

“No.”

“Okay then,” Fury says.

“What? You’re just going to take my word for it?” Tony waits and studies them. No one else is in the office right now; the computers don’t even look like they are running.

“We did the research and the recon, we know that you’re not our suspect,” Fury says. “What we do know is that someone with quite a bit of clout in your company has been selling weapons to known terrorists. This isn’t good for you, Stark, because the Senate is looking into your actions in Afghanistan-.”

“I went back there after I was rescued to help the people, not to aid the same terrorists that took me,” Tony says through gritted teeth. Why can’t anyone believe that he owned something to those people in that village who had been tormented as much as Tony had been during his captivity? 

“That’s not our concern, Stark.” Fury shakes his head. “Plus, I believe you.”

“You, you believe me? You don’t even know me,” Tony says.

“We know enough, Mister Stark,” Coulson says. “But we need your help.”

“I didn’t come here to help you,” Tony says. “I came here because my driver gave me a card for a detective agency to find a friend of mine, who happens to be important to me-.”

“Ms. Potts is part of the reason we’re contacting you,” Coulson says and this shuts up Tony immediately. “She happened upon discussions that concerned her. When she asked about the discussions, when she tried to hunt down the source-.”

“Was she hurt, tell me she wasn’t hurt?” Tony says and his already damaged heat throbs at a crescendo.

“No, she wasn’t hurt, but threatened,” Coulson says. “We were lucky, we had been monitoring things inside your company.”

“You were spying-.”

“If you want to call it that, then yes,” Coulson says. “We have an agent inside. She was able to remove her from the premises and get her to safety. We’ve relocated Ms. Potts and right now, she’s safe.”

Tony regards them, and he cannot tell if they’re filling him up with a load of crap or not. Tapping the table, he knocks it twice and then says, “I want proof.”

“Of course you do,” Fury says and digs into that voluminous leather coat. Pulling out a StarkPhone, he slides it across the table and presses one of the icons.

Tony grimaces. “Where did you get this? These are prototypes-.” His words stop, catch in his mouth by the face and the voice of a long lost friend.

“Tony?”

“Pepper?” 

She beams at him and her freckles seem to shine. Her eyes dance and she says, “I was so worried, Tony, I thought. I don’t know what I though-.”

He interrupts her. “Pepper, what happened? What did these goons do to you?” At the same time he speaks she talks over him saying, “No, no, Tony you have to listen to me. You have to know. I’ve been begging them.”

“Begging them?” Tony flicks his attention up to the two men and then back to the phone. “What does that mean? Have they hurt you?”

“No, no,” Pepper says and he can see her ponytail swing. “I’m good, really, I’m fine. But Tony, I don’t know-what I heard – it isn’t good.”

“What did you hear-.”

Fury cuts in. “We don’t need to go over that, we need to focus.”

Pepper rolls her eyes as if she’s used to dealing with Fury and his henchmen. “Yes, we do need to focus, and the reason I asked you to contact Tony is that he’s in danger.”

“What?” He looks between the phone and Fury.

“Yes, what she said,” Fury says and, for a moment, Tony thinks that Pepper can even cow the most threatening man, but then he remembers that Pepper had been put in danger by someone in his own company. 

“What’s going on?”

Pepper inhales and then lets it out. “Tony, Obadiah, I think he isn’t – he’s selling weapons to terrorists. I think he might have been responsible for your abduction.”

“What?” The room narrows to only a funnel, darkening at the edges and wavering in the center. Obie and Ty are his family – all he has left. He’s damaged and broken and they are still there for him. “No, Obie is a like a father to me.”

“Tony, please listen,” Pepper says but he shoves the phone away, stumbles to his feet and stutters but then finds his capacity to speak again. “No, I don’t know what you people are playing at or what you did to Pepper to convince her, but no. Obie is like a father to me, Ty is my fiancé. No.”

He can hear the slightly tinny voice of Pepper calling to him from the phone. Fury remains like a stone in his chair but Coulson stands up, but doesn’t block his exit. “We thought it would be hard to take, Mister Stark. Considering this is your entrance into something broader, more complex than you thought-.”

“What the hell?” He cringes. “What is wrong with you people? Whatever you did to Pepper, I am going to fucking destroy you. She doesn’t deserve this, this isn’t her.”

Coulson takes out a card and offers it to Tony. He doesn’t touch it. He drops his arm. “Come talk to us when you’re ready.”

“I’m never coming here again,” Tony says and starts for the door.

“Stark?” 

He doesn’t respond to Fury’s beckoning call. 

“You forgot something,” Fury says and tosses the phone. Tony barely catches it. He turns over whether or not he should just throw it to the floor and crush it with his heel, but then he remembers it is a Stark phone and he designed it. That will not work. He pockets it. 

“See you soon,” Coulson says and Tony only grunts his disbelief.

He hustles out of the bogus detective agency, hands stuffed in his pockets, with his fist around the phone. He cannot believe Pepper sold him out for some fucking story, because that is what this has to be. Or maybe they are some craptastic government agency trying to wrestle a charge or two on Tony and his family – the last of his family. 

He grabs for his phone and he opens his car door. His phone, not the fucking phone they gave him. He presses his contact for Ty. It takes a few rings and Tony thinks it will go to voicemail but then Ty picks up.

“Hey, Sweetums, what’s up?”

He sighs, he’d thought for sure Ty would still be pissed with him about last night. “Hey, I wanted to see if you could catch some lunch?”

“Lunch?”

Tony stops, weighs the possibilities, and then says, “Okay, not lunch, but dessert?”

“Oh, Sweetums, get those ass cheeks over here so I can eat you up,” Ty says and he chuckles.

“You at the penthouse?”

“Office,” Ty says and there’s rustling in the background. 

“Meet me at the penthouse in thirty?” Tony says and the constriction in his chest eases.

“No can do, have a meeting, which by the way you’re supposed to attend,” Ty says and grunts a little. “Yeah, Sweetums, come to the office, I’ll do you over the desk.”

Tony feels the red blush of heat and a touch of humiliation warm his face. He hates how Ty always assumes he’ll be into some new kink, but then he already pissed Ty off last night. It’s the least he could do, right? “Okay, be there in a few.”

“Great. I’m warming up the sausage for you,” Ty snickers and something turns over in Tony’s gut. 

He smiles but it’s half forced and presses the disconnect as he sits in traffic and tries to grapple with his discordant feelings. First, Pepper, and then Obie, and now this? He scrubs at his face. God, he needs to relax. 

It takes him longer than he promised to get across town to the New York Offices of Stark Industries. It’s raining again and he’s already wet because he stopped off at the local pharmacy to pick up some condoms and lube. Ty is a gorilla and Tony’ll be damned if he’s going to get fucked dry and hard. 

There’s a new administrative assistant at the circular desk to their inner offices Tony notices as he steps off the lift on the top floor. The woman has long red hair, a body to die for, and full lips; she looks like a Russian dream. He smiles at her and she only offers him a half tilted brow. 

“Sir?”

He leans against the high desk and asks, “Have we met?”

“No,” she says and smiles. “Natalie Romanoff, I’m with legal.”

“And you’re at the reception desk because-?”

Before she answers one of the doors to the inner conclave of offices opens and it’s Ty. “Because I put her there. Come on, Tones, we haven’t got all day.”

Ty can be such a bitch when he’s horny. Tony clears his throat and nods to the beautiful woman. Slipping by the reception desk, he enters the large offices of his soon to be husband. The windows line the entire wall, while the desk is tucked against the corner so that Ty can stare out to view Manhattan in all her majesty. 

“Come on, come on,” Ty says and he’s already dropped his pants and stroking himself. Tony tosses him the lube and condoms.

It occurs to Tony half way through the scene that he feels more like a damned toilet than a partner, that he’s not even aroused and grabs onto the desk hoping it will be over soon. He cringes with each and every thrust and despises the sounds of Ty grunting and groaning over him. By the time he finishes, which is blessedly fast as always, Tony feels the daze come over him – the one he recalls from his days after coming home after his ordeal. It isn’t a good thing, it’s terrible. He hasn’t felt this off, this fragile in months. 

Ty wraps his arm around Tony’s waist as he finishes, intent on bringing Tony off. When he finds that Tony’s not even erect, Ty sighs, “Shit, not this again.” He pulls out without any thought to the drag and burn, pulls off the condom, ties it off, and throws it in the trash can. Tony hisses and tucks up his pants. 

“Is this how it is now?” Ty says and yanks up his pants while he walks across his massive office – an office for what Tony doesn’t know. Ty’s value to the company has always been in question. “Are we back to that? Do you need to go see the doctors again?” He pours a drink at the bar near the windows, and then he downs it. 

“What? No,” Tony says, more irritated than he means to – Ty has every right to be worried. Tony is usually a very enthusiastic lover. “I got a lot on my mind. And I’m a little, I don’t know. I’m not into having sex in the office.”

“Since when?” Ty says and shakes his head. “Jesus, Tony, this isn’t going to be any fun if you don’t fucking let loose. You know, remember?” Ty sidles up to him with the ice cubes in the drink clinking in the glass. “Remember when you were my slut, you’ll always be a good slut for me, right?”

Tony should be grateful, shouldn’t loathe the burn and ache in his ass, should smile and love the term of endearment. It only serves to curdle his stomach further. “Yeah, Ty, always.” It’s a routine response. 

Ty nuzzles at his neck. “When we get home tonight, I’ll suck you off, how’s that? Would you like that?”

The tension releases, Ty never sucks him off. The fact he’s willing to do something so intimate and offering it without Tony begging, eases some of the cords tightened in his shoulders and neck. He nods and leans into Ty, remembering how it felt to have someone to depend on when he came home from Afghanistan. How Ty was there, and Pepper was gone. How Rhodes had been called away after the rescue, and the only persons Tony could depend on at all, had been Ty. Ty and Obie.

No one else had been there for Tony. 

They’re his _family_.

But why does he feel so cold?


	5. Chapter 5

The feel of the charcoal against the grain of the paper always soothes whatever worry or stress Steve harbors. He loves the dedication and the concentration it takes to focus on the paper, the act of creation. Maybe it is one of the reasons he fell into drawing and painting. Because it relaxed him, all those years ago as a sick kid. It helped him get through the worst of his ailments and allowed him to dream of better days.

One of his favorite things to do is to impart his knowledge and his love of art form to others. He cherishes working with children, and sparking their excitement and desire to create. It is fun and adorable the things their minds think up, the way their brains turn and flip and he's astounded everyday. He only wishes he could dedicate more of his time to his own creative endeavors. With the art schoo, with Emma, and with dancing at night to cover the extra expenses, he has little time to explore and design or craft a portfolio for any showing.

Even now, in art class, it is about the students, not about his art. He doesn't begrudge it, he just wishes it would be a little bit more than this hollowed out superficial participation in the soul of what he defines as his world.

"Are you going to do anything or am I just supposed to sit here and admire the view?"

Steve jerks out of his reverie. The class began about fifteen minutes ago. Steve arranged the easels and tables along the side walls and most of the students arrived on time. Except for Stark. When Stark didn't show up at the appointed time, Steve hadn't been surprised. The man had expressly stated he wanted his money back. So, while his students settled in for the night's lesson, Steve ran upstairs, kissed Emma on the cheek as she sat on Bucky's lap doing her matching shapes homework, and counted out the money to give back to Stark.

"What's going on?" Bucky had asked.

"Stark said he didn't want to take the class. He's probably coming back tonight to get his money." Steve said with a shrug.

"I thought there were no refunds," Bucky said and set Emma at the table as she colored the triangles all green. Steve frowned. He's sure she's not colorblind, he had her tested.

"Sweetheart, the triangles are supposed to be red," Steve said and pointed to the directions. She can't read them, yet, she's too young.

"I know, I like green better." She swung her legs back and forth under the table - and he was just grateful she felt strong enough to do that, considered she'd been in the braces all day.

"So do I, I hate red."

"And gold," Emma said with a big smile.

"Okay and gold," he said and turned back to Bucky. "I don't want any trouble from him."

"At least take out ten percent processing fee."

Steve sighed and agreed. He counted out the bills and stuffed them back in the coffee jar with the rest of the money for Bucky's new arm. As he tousled Emma's curls and headed toward the door, Bucky had called out to him, "That shouldn't be in that jar anyway."

"Whatever, you jerk. Just babysit and I'll be up later." He jogged back down the stairs to see Stark setting up at one of the easels near the back of the classroom.

"Oh," he had said and realized he was staring like a stupid deer in headlights. "Okay then." He had watched as Stark settled into the folding chair in front of the easel and waited. "Okay, I will - do you have supplies?"

Stark didn’t, and so Steve spent the next few minutes gathering up a sketch pad, charcoal sticks of hard and medium texture, and shammy for erasing. He didn't allow kneaded erasers just yet. He set up an exta easel next to Stark's and had said, "Okay then."

"Yeah, you keep saying that. Are you going to teach us or not?"

One of the other students snickered but turned back to her work. Jane Foster was an interesting character. She was an astrophysicist and also happened to be Thor's girlfriend. She came on Monday nights to relax and draw pictures of Norse mythology. He often wondered if Thor was just a nickname for something more mundane like Donald or something.

"Yes, I'm going to teach you."

"Right here?" Tony asks as Steve snaps out of his reverie again. "Everyone, like now?"

"Oh, we don't work that way. I work one on one with the student" Steve says as he forces his attention into the moment. "Usually I do a demonstration of technique, whatever new technique you are working on, and then everyone works at their own pace, on their own piece. I find people like it better that way. Are you good with that?"

Tony shrugs. "Sure, good, whatever floats your boat."

"Fine," Steve says and sets up the paper on the board, clipping it. "Now you hold the charcoal, not like a pencil, but underneath your fingers like this." He demonstrate how the tip (or what will be the tip once he sharpens it) is gripped between his forefinger and thumb and the tail end of the charcoal tucks under his hand. "Sharpen it not with a pencil sharpener but with the sandpaper, rotating it. You get a better point, you don't lose as much charcoal, and you can do it, and should do it continuously as you draw."

Tony watches, his eyes focused and eagle like as he takes in the lesson. Steve continues. "Tap out the sandpaper board onto a paper towel, makes less of a mess." Tony starts slowly and rhythmically. He has a lot of control over the stick of charcoal, very adept at movement. "Good, good. Now rotate it so you get an even point."

He deftly mimics Steve's movements and sharpens the black stick easily, then hits the sandpaper board on its side. "Okay?"

His expectant looks surprises Steve, but he hides it well, he thinks. Turning back to the paper, he says, "We start out simple. An orange. We'll draw it and then go through the different areas of light and shadow. All art is happens to be light and shadow. What we see, how we see is dependent on how the light hits the object."

Tony tilts his head and watches as Steve sketches out a circle and begins to shade. "Keep the shading on an angle. If we look at this the way the old Dutch masters did we're looking at classical lighting, at a 45 degree angle. Where the light hits the object is the whitest, and brightest point on the object. From there we work with shadow, shading progressively darker. As we move away from the highlight this is the object's midtone where it is a mixture of light and shadow, then we move to the object shadow which is the darkest rim of the orange, that is not on the actual outer edge."

"No?" Tony slides the chair over to get closer and it scrapes along the floor.

"No, that would flatten the picture. I am going to jump over what we do with the farthest outer ridge from the highlight of the object to the table. This is the cast shadow. it is the area you perceive as the darkest near the object itself. That's closest and as we move along the horizontal of the paper then we lighten our touch."

"You keep using the same angle on the object and the table?"

"For now, yes," Steve says. "Now we go back to the outer ridge. The lightest part of the object is the highlight which is opposite to the outer ridge where you have what we call the reflected light. The light from the table that was interrupted by the object hits around the object and is reflected back up onto the object, creating reflected light on the outer ridge."

"Wow, basic physics," Tony says and leans over Steve's shoulder. He stood up at some point and presses over him, not touching Steve but hovering. "I assume you can do this with any object then?"

"That's the basics, yes." Steve glances up at him, sees how the light from the room touches his fine cheekbones, the structure of his shoulders, his chest. He's actually quite lean, but not thin or weak looking at all. More elegant with long sinews and fine bone structure. "Yes." His mouth is not at all dry, Steve tells himself. "Now, you should try."

"Sure, you make it look easy and then throw the rest of us to the wolves."

Steve laughs as Tony sits back down and drags his chair back to his easel. He stops to help Tony set up his paper and clip it in place on the board. After he's sure that Tony's working he moves to the other students. Jane is working on a depiction of the Valkyries which is both beautiful and terrifying. Another of his students Jan is painting beautiful flowers with a swarm of bees hovering over them. He talks and works out each little issue with all of the students until he eventually drifts back to Tony who is just about to use his finger to smear the charcoal.

"Nope, no fingers."

Startling, Tony jumps away from the paper. "Give a guy a heart attack. But what?"

"Don't use your fingers to blend, that's what your tools are for. You use the charcoal and the difference. Plus this -." He picks up the blender which is really only rolled paper with a point on it. "Here, let me show you." Steve turns back to his own orange and demonstrates how to work the lines of the charcoal together. "The finger just puts your hand oil on the paper making it more difficult to work the charcoal and blend correctly. Once we get to the different types of charcoal, the shammy and the kneaded eraser you'll have more tools to work with."

"Great, I love tools," Tony says and then cringes as if he realizes how Neanderthal it sounds.

"Me too," Jane pipes in and smiles. She turns back before Tony says anything and with a query look questions Steve. He only shrugs in response.

His adult crew of students are eclectic at best. They come here from all over the city just to relax. Many of them call it their weekly therapy session. They chat and laugh and even help each other out when they are stuck on a piece and cannot figure it out and he's busy with another student. By the end of the two hours, Tony has completed four oranges and seems to have gotten the hang of charcoal easily. As the students pack up, Steve says, "We'll work on pastels next week. Since you have an idea of the shading. We'll take each of the oranges you drew and color them."

"Over the charcoal?"

"Yes, that's the under drawing or the underpainting," Steve confirms as Jane and Jan step up.

"The better the underpainting the better the finished product," Jan says and smiles. "I'm bringing little Henry by for his first lesson on Thursday."

"Great, that will be fun."

"Still trying to get Sue and Reed to send their kids but they want to go to some uptown place, thinks it will be better on the kids CV."

"They're only seven," Jane says and shakes her head. "Gotta run, see you Steve."

"Bye," Steve says as he starts to fold up the easels against the wall so he can sweep before he heads up to bed. Most of the students stop by and say good bye and stow their art work in the cabinet to work on next class. By the time, Steve has all the easels perched against the walls, he realizes Tony is the only one left. "Hey, do you have a question."

Tony searches around as if he's looking for who Steve might be talking to. "Oh, hmm, no?"

"Is that a no, I'm not sure, or no I have more than one?"

Tony chuckles. "No, I just wanted to say, thanks."

"Thanks?" Steve furrows his brow, he can see that Tony's disconnected as if he's walking a tightrope and cannot find his way to the other side. "Do you want a cup of coffee?"

Tony raises his eyebrows, but says, "Yeah sure." He puts down the box of art supplies and follows Steve toward the back of the art class room. "Everyone thinks of this as their outlet, their way to relax." He pours the coffee and offers Tony the cup. "Sugar?"

"Well, okay if you want to start with the nicknames so early on-."

"No, do you want sugar?" Steve says and taps the canister.

"Oh, yeah, sure, one please."

Steve scoops it out, stirs and then hands the cup to Tony. "I don't have any creamer right now, sorry. Ran out."

"No problem," Tony says and sits down to drink the coffee. "This is nice, the class I mean. The coffee kind of stinks."

Chuckling, Steve shakes his head and continues to clean up. He picks up the broom and sweeps as he talks. "I like teaching adults. It's an interesting dynamic, very different from kids."

"I bet, but you don't teach adults much?"

"One night a week." Steve says.

"Why now more?"

"I have to feed my family somehow, Mister Stark," Steve says and finishes his sweeping job. "I work most nights at a club near Time Square."

"Oh the big bouncer of the place," Tony says. As soon as Steve said family, something changed in Tony's demeanor - both a look of longing and a need to escape. "So you're married?"

"Single father, Emma's mom died a few years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Thanks," Steve says. "I have a lot of friends helping me. Bucky, Natasha, some of the guys at the club. Even my old flame, Peggy-."

"She probably sees you as the marrying type now that you have a kid-."

Steve gives him a half smile. "Not really, Peggy's a pretty important person. She works in the diplomatic corps. She might settle down some day, but not with me."

"You seem a little sad about that?" Tony says.

"Well, she is an excellent dancer," Steve says and grins.

"You like to dance?"

"Yeah, sometimes, I used to be worried I'd step on people's feet, but not anymore," Steve says and feels a little warmth of a blush on his face. He keeps his dancing and his school separate.

"And your friends, the other ones, Bucky and Na-."

"Natasha," Steve supplies as he gets out the mop and fills up the bucket at the sink. "They help out. Actually I live with Bucky."

"Do you mind if I ask how-." Tony says and points to his arm.

"Afghanistan, IED blew and he ended up without an arm. It was grisly, but I guess you know a little about that," Steve says.

"Yeah, a little," Tony says and Steve notices he clutches the Styrofoam cup harder.

"But we're coping, you know it's good to have someone, to help cope." Steve says as he studies the man. His shoulders grow tenser as they speak about the war, and even more so as they discuss family. "You have your fiancé right?"

He rubs at his face smearing charcoal. "Yeah, sure I do."

"You want more coffee?" Steve says as he finishes the mopping and comes back to the sink. He detects a slight hesitation, an almost reluctance to verify the existence of a fiancé in Stark.

"Hmm, not the best I've ever had," Tony says.

"Well, I'd invite you to the coffee shop down the street, but a ten buck cup of coffee is a little steep for my pocketbook," Steve says and then he actually does redden. Because he's flirting, no not flirting but actually asking an engaged man out on a date.

"Oh, that's too bad," Tony says and puts the coffee cup down. Gathering up his art supplies and his jacket, he says," That's too bad, I would have liked that, Teach."

"Oh," Steve can only manage as Tony leaves the school with a decidedly jauntier attitude than he had earlier. Steve stares after him for a few minutes, then sighing, walks to the door to lock up the place.

But he's not fast enough - Johann Schmidt shoves the door open and pushes past Steve into the small classroom. Steve rolls his eyes but inhales and then exhales at a measured pace to clear his head. “Mister Schmidt.”

“You owe your next payment, Mister Rogers,” Schmidt says and walks around the perimeter of the classroom, touching the pastels and oil paintings Steve has on display. “Lovely works of art, how much do you think I will get for them when you declare bankruptcy.”

“I’m not declaring anything, Schmidt. You’ll have your money on time,” Steve says and clutches the doorknob. “I was just closing up for the evening.”

“Yes, I see that, perhaps you should think about what I said before, it would be a perfect set up for you,” Schmidt says with a smile that curls on the edges and reminds him of a skull’s jaw line.

“I’m not going to be a front for Doctor Zola’s pharmaceutical interested. I borrowed money, I’ll pay it back.”

“At forty-three percent interest-.”

“It’s not forty-three, it’s only eighteen,” Steve says and fists his hands. Schmidt is always trying to pull a fast one. He should never have gone to him for the money to buy the school, but the bank wouldn’t give him enough credit even with his veteran’s preference. 

Schmidt whips out the loan agreement. He studies it as if it is a biblical reference that he revers. “Hmm, right here in the fine print, it says that if you are overdue on your payment by any more than twenty four hours, the interest rate increases from eighteen to forty-two point nine percent, with a balloon payment being owed no more than forty-five days after the late payment.”

“You can’t, that’s can’t be legal,” Steve says and rips the paperwork out of Schmidt’s hands. Reading it his heart sinks, they’ll be homeless. He won’t be able to send Emma to Darcy’s school, he’ll lose everything. “I’m not late.”

“Next week your payment is due, if you don’t get it to me on time, I will invoke that clause,” Schmidt says as he drifts toward the door. Hulking over Schmidt, he says, “Of course, we could balance things out, you could help my friend, Doctor Zola.”

“I’m not a front for an illegal pharmacy-.”

“What you say is illegal helps many people.”

“Heroin doesn’t help anyone, Johann.”

Schmidt smiles down at Steve and in the fading twilight of the day, the light casts him in red hues. “Who said anything about heroin, the good doctor only tries to help the unfortunate with his organic specialties.”

“If it was legal, you wouldn’t need a front.”

Schmidt growls at Steve and then pushes through the door, leaving him rattled and anxious. He closes the door, locking it, and damning himself for dealing with such a character. The bank wouldn’t give him a loan for the place, because it was too expensive and needed too many repairs. He managed to ask Schmidt for it, out of his loan business. If he knew then what he knows now, he would have given up the dream to have an art school in the city. He should have relocated to New Jersey or something.

He shuts off the lights and climbs up the stairs after he switches on the burglar alarm. Skipping up the stairs, he realizes it is past Emma’s bed time. “Damn it.” When he arrives at the flat, there’s a quietude about the place and he knows he’s missed putting his daughter to bed again.

Just as he crosses the living room to go to the bedroom, Bucky slips out of Emma’s room and places a finger to his lips. “She’s sleeping.”

“Damn it.” Steve sinks on the couch. Bucky joins him.

“She did good today, Darcy said she really enjoyed the reading. She’s making progress on her alphabet and sight words.”

“Great, great, and where will that leave us when we’re homeless.” Steve says and bends forward. He can’t help it if he doesn’t he might start hyperventilating and, for someone with damaged lungs, that’s never a good thing. 

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Bucky says and lays a hand between Steve’s shoulder blades.

“Looks like Schmidt really pulled one over on me. I gotta look at the loan papers and make sure he’s not trying to con me or something.” Steve scrubs a hand through his hair. “If I’m late by twenty four hours on the payment he can raise the interest rate to a god awful amount.”

“That can’t be, you’ve been late before,” Bucky says.

“It’s some kind of clause he can invoke, I don’t know, I’m not a lawyer,” Steve says.

“You want Natasha to look at it, she works in legal in her department,” Bucky says with a lift of his shoulder. “She might have some insight.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” It doesn’t matter, he can’t slow down his breathing and the hitching in his chest only amplifies as he tries to calm down. His words grow raspy and he grasps his knees hanging his head.

“Hey, hey, where’s your inhaler,” Bucky says and leaps to his feet, rushing over to the coat hooks near the door. 

He rustles around at the coat rack and Steve collapses forward, laying his chest on his legs and bowing his head. The constriction is worse now, and he should sit up but the world darkens around him and he can barely fight for breath. Abruptly the plastic piece of the inhaler pushes into his mouth and he gulps at it as Bucky sprays it down his throat. It takes two puff and his lungs ease. It isn’t good, he’s not over it yet, but he can move again and throws his head back onto the cushions of their couch.

“Man, calm down, we’ll figure it out,” Bucky says. “I got an interview.”

Steve presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. The bright flashes only ground him and he slumps back, shoulders slack, hands dropped to his lap. “How am I supposed to do this? If you get a job, I -.” He draws in a breath; his words are airless and strangulated. “can’t afford child care.”

Bucky rubs his hand down Steve’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.” 

“Yeah, yeah.”

Later, he checks in on Emma, he sit in the one cushioned chair. Gazing at her sleeping feels like a prayer. She’s perfect in every way and he loves her more than anything, but he wonders if he shouldn’t have found a more suitable arrangement for her. If he’d given her up, maybe she would have been adopted by a good family, a family that would provide for her. He sinks into the chair, considering how he’ll make this right.

One thing he knows, he can never give Emma up. She’s his heart and soul. He needs to find a way to make some money and do it fast. There’s always the club. He could ask for more work, the private parties. They pay well and the tips are great according to Clint. The club has rules; there’s no prostitution allowed. It’s on the up and up, it would be a few lap dances, maybe some touching. He isn’t so noble to deny his child a warm place to sleep, and his friend the help he needs to get back on his feet. 

“Tomorrow,” he mutters. He’s going into the club tomorrow night. He’ll talk with Hill about any possible openings for private parties. He leans back and stares into the dark. It won’t be so bad. He likes to dance. 

He ignores the wobble of his knees as he climbs to his feet and goes to the bathroom to shower, clean up the dirt from the day. He wonders how he’ll ever feel clean again.


	6. Chapter 6

He fingers the buttons of his shirt and then slowly goes through the motions of dressing. Hopping off the medical examination table, Tony straightens his cuffs and clips them together with the diamond studded links. There’s a tap on the door and he smiles as his doctor enters.

“I don’t think I told you to get dressed yet.”

Tony smirks. “Well, I figure we’re going to go over the same old same old again, so I didn’t see the point in sitting there with my manly chest out, driving you wild, Brucie bear.”

Bruce peers over his glasses with a quirked eyebrow and shakes his head. “You know, I don’t know why I tolerate you at my practice. I think you should go to a more impartial doctor, someone you didn’t go to undergrad with.”

“Oh you mean, someone I didn’t dorm with and have experimental love sessions with?”

Bruce rolls his eyes and sighs. “We never did that, Tony. You might be bi, but some of us are just boring heterosexuals.”

“You’ve severely limited your choices in the matter, you do know that, Bruce, right?” Tony says.

“You’re changing the subject, and I’m smart enough to know better,” Bruce points to the examination table. “Sit down and unbutton your shirt.”

Tony growls at Bruce much to his disdain and raised eyebrow, but still he follows direction and hops back up onto the table. He only opens up the first few buttons on his shirt. His tie hangs unknotted on his shoulders. Taking his stethoscope, Bruce leans in and listens to Tony’s heart.

“Any changes?” Tony says after Bruce makes him go through the routine of breathing in and out, deep breathes, shallow breathes, breathes that make him sound like a dog after a long loping run around the backyard. “So tell me, doc, am I gonna live?”

Bruce steps back and frowns at Tony. “That all depends. Have you stopped drinking?”

“As much as I’m able.”

“That’s not an answer,” Bruce says and gestures for Tony to button up. It’s really perfunctory anyhow, since Tony’s stress tests did not involve a simple listen to his heart beating, but a whole host of different equipment designed to try and kill him. 

Bruce crosses his arms and considers Tony in that glower that tries for understanding but borders on hidden rage monster. Tony knows this, he went to undergrad with Bruce and shared a dorm room with him during Tony’s formative years. Tony blames a lot of his vices on Bruce – not that Banner had anything to do with introducing Tony to weed or anything – nothing like that at all. Well, maybe.

“No, it’s not, but it’s what you’re going to get.” Tony starts to rebutton his shirt again. “Well, how bad is it? What drugs are you going to-.”

“No more drugs. Your heart took damage during your -.”

“Unfortunate incarceration, let’s go with that, I heard that term on a TV show, I think it fits,” Tony says and winks at Bruce.

Bruce shrugs. “Listen, Tony, the damage to your heart leads to your erratic heartbeat, as well as the value problems. You could have surgery.”

“No, no doctors.”

Bruce huffs at him. “You do realize I’m a doctor.”

“Not that kind of doctor.”

“I’m a heart surgeon, so yes that kind of doctor,” Bruce says. “Cardiology and surgery. Right, come on, Tony, you have to listen to me. You have to start taking care of yourself. You were on a fast track to hell before the Afghanistan incident, and now you’re burning out. You need to do something-.”

“No surgery.”

Bruce holds up his hands. “Okay, no surgery. Then you need to follow the diet, stop drinking, no smoking.”

“I don’t smoke,” Tony says and when Bruce gives him the _look_ , he adds, “Not even weed.”

“Well, have you tried some of the alternative medicine treatments I recommended?” Bruce asks and waits as Tony tries to find a good way to run around this question. “Tony, you need to do something. You need to decrease the stress in your life. Did you look into the yoga classes.”

“I am not turning into a pretzel just so some chick can ogle my ass,” Tony says, but now that he states it that way, it doesn’t sound so terribly horrible. “Okay, but I did start taking art class.” Bruce lets a little ‘huh’ noise as if he doesn’t believe Tony. “Really, in Brooklyn. A little private place.”

“So you’re going to an art class to look at naked models? I thought you were engaged.”

“Very funny, no nude models, unfortunately. Because apparently they are very expensive and the place I picked to sign up for happens to be teetering on the edge of oblivion as far as business sense is concerned.” Tony says. 

“So, you’re serious about this?”

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve only been a few times. I like it so far,” Tony says and tries to brush it off. But he has to admit, that he enjoys his Monday nights especially after a long weekend with having to endure Ty and his damned weird moods, and brute sexual tendencies and appetite. He likes going into the little classroom, setting up his charcoals, pastels, his easel. He likes to sit and listen to some of the other students.

Last week, he got into a long conversation with Jane Foster, who happens to be _that_ Jane Foster. They must have discussed the theory of the Einstein-Rosen Bridge for the whole two hours. Steve had to keep both of them on track as Jane kept turning from her painting to face him and debate different postulates as he baited her. 

He found the act of creation, the artistic endeavor to be strangely soothing. He always left lifted and feeling better about himself, more centered. He attributed it to the art class and not the fact he ended up staying a few extra minutes, or hour, or more to talk with the teacher, Steve Rogers. 

Actually, the last time he dawdled after class, Steve invited him for the coffee but also had a small box of cookies he’d said he’d made with his daughter.

“Emma, right?” Tony had asked.

“Yeah, she’s little, only five.” Steve smiled and the ability to cause that beautiful expression warmed Tony’s heart, he wanted to be able to do it all the time. “She’s not much of a girly girl. She likes her little dresses and her dolls, but she dresses them up as superheroes.”

“She sounds like she’s sweet,” Tony said and hoped it was the right thing to say.

And it was because he was graced with another one of Steve’s potent and wonderful smiles. “Yeah, she’s my little princess, or should I say superhero?”

“Who’s her favorite superhero?” Tony said and selected one of the cut outs, the shapes of which he cannot figure out at all. They all look like amorphous blobs.

Steve chuckled and it was infectious. Suddenly Tony was smiling along with Steve as he answered, “As she would say it, it depends. The fight, Daddy, the fight. If we need someone who can get a clean shot then it’s Hawkeye, he’s a guy that fights off killer robots with a bow and arrow.”

“No shit,” Tony said.

“Seriously, I’m not sure the comic book writers have any idea what they’re talking about.”

“So it would be Hawkeye then as Emma’s favorite?” Tony asked and he didn’t know why it was so important to know, to get this right about Steve and the little girl that was obviously the light and sparkle in his eyes.

Steve bowed his head then and shrugged, a certain melancholy came over him. “It depends really. When she’s doing good, it’s Hawkeye and Black Widow – you don’t want to know. But when she’s not, well she clings to Captain America and Iron Man as her favorites. I think it’s because they’re the leaders of the team.”

It had been then that Tony learned, gleaned really, a bit of the story. Emma wasn’t the ordinary child. She’d been born with birth defects and some ailments. She needed to use braces to walk and she was routinely hospitalized for ailments due to her weak heart.

“Hello, hello?” Bruce says and clicks his fingers in front of Tony’s face. “Earth to Tony. What’s going on here?”

“Oh, shit, yeah, I was talking-.”

“About the art class?”

“Yeah, it’s nice and I like it a lot, and the teacher is-.”

Bruce frowns. “Don’t tell me you’re hitting on the teacher, Tony. You have a fiancé.”

“You keep telling me Ty is not the one for me. And thanks for all _that_ support.” Tony gathers up his jacket and slings it on. “I’m not hitting on the teacher, he happens to have a little girl that needs some medical help. I was hoping you might step up to the plate, but I see this is abou-.”

Bruce catches his shoulder and holds him from exiting the examination room. “Whoa, where is this coming from? You, kind of, I don’t know flying off the handle. The stress levels have to decrease, Tony. I didn’t mean to cause more. What’s going on?”

Tony looks at the door, his need to escape heightens but he needs to talk to someone. “I think I’m gonna lose the company.”

“Why would you say that?” Bruce asks. “The flak from Afghanistan seems to be settling down, you’re getting married in less than a month.”

“I don’t know,” Tony says and all the pressures in his head percolates and he wants to scream but he can’t. “Okay, okay, can I just ask you if you know a pediatric cardiologist? Someone good?”

“I could look into it,” Bruce says and he sizes up Tony. “Listen, call me if you want to really talk about it.”

“Are you saying that as my doctor or my friend?”

“You’re friend,” Bruce says and then admits, “A little bit of your doctor, too.”

“Okay, okay,” Tony agrees. “Just get me the name of the cardiologist, okay?” 

Bruce promises and, after a few more minutes on Tony’s heart health, Bruce releases him with a handful of prescriptions and a set of directions to decrease his stress level. He knows that Bruce is pretty damned successful when it comes to anger management; the man was legendary for his temper in college. 

He meets Happy in the waiting room and they ride the elevator down to the ground floor. “You want to stop and get lunch before your meetings, boss?”

“Sure, sure,” Tony says and they make their way to the parking garage and Tony slips into the back of the limo. He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling, realizing too late that he’s wants to talk with Pepper. 

Pepper.

The conspiracy.

Obadiah, a traitor.

He rubs at his forehead and sighs. He still has card Happy gave him with the fake detective agency’s number on it. He placed it in his billfold and has taken it out several times over the last few weeks to stare at it. He punches in the numbers onto his phone and almost disconnects when a bright female voice answers.

“SHIELD detective agency.”

“You can drop the act, this is Tony Stark.”

“Mister Stark, this is Skye, we met a few weeks ago when you first inquired about our services,” Skye says.

“Yeah, so hi, and where’s your boss man?”

“Out, doing boss man things,” Skye says. “Can I take a message?”

“Yeah, tell him I’m in.”

“You’re in, that’s it?”

“Yeah, I don’t know the super secret spy words to use and no one sent me the super secret decoder so I have no idea what I’m supposed to do next. Have boss man call me,” Tony says. 

“Will do, and I’ll get the super secret decoder out to you as soon as possible,” she says with a giggle right before she hangs up.

He stares at the phone for a full minute before he jerks back to reality and says, “Happy, skip the office, I’m going home.”

“Are you sure, boss, Mister Stane wanted a meeting with you,” Happy says and eyes him in the rearview mirror.

Lying his head back on the seat cushion, Tony says, “Yeah, which one?”

“Ty, sir. He wanted to talk to you about the bachelor party.”

“That’s still a month away,” Tony says and the idea of getting married, hitching his life to Ty feels like barbed wire wrapped around his chest. Now wonder he has heart problems, he’s marrying a dick. There has to be another way to get out of this – the fake detective agency though is all he has. 

“He said all the best places are booked, and that Justin Hammer has a great idea.”

“Oh fuck,” Tony says. “Okay, okay, let’s go, but first cheeseburgers.”

“As always, boss,” Happy says with a smile. 

Of course, Justin Hammer lounges in Ty’s office and, as soon as Tony sees him, he regrets the greasy burger he engulfed on the way over to his headquarters. Justin jumps up and slaps a sweaty hand in Tony’s, clapping him on the back as if they are old school buddies. They never were, Justin would never have been allowed within sniffing distance of MIT. 

“Tony, Tony, we were just discussing the big bash, the gigantic bachelor party,” Justin says and winks at Ty who reclines in his leather chair at the same desk he fucked Tony over just a few weeks back. 

“Oh,” Tony says. “And here I thought we were going to go with something a little subdued.”

“Yeah, yeah, Justin, that’s right. Good old dad wants to make sure that Tony stays in line. You know can’t have any more bad press especially after the fiasco of Afghanistan.” Ty pats his lap as if he’s calling his dog over to him. Tony stays firmly in place, near the windows and ten meters from Ty. 

“Well, the stink is dying down, right? Because of Obie, you’re lucky he’s on your side, Stark,” Justin says and taps the desk as he sits back down. “Really, we’re not worried about that shit anymore are we?”

“Worried?” Tony says with a snicker. “Not really, just still, it’s up in the air who set up the kidnapping in the first place.”

Ty glares at him. “What the hell are you talking about Baby? We all know it was the Ten Rings. The terrorists-.”

“Seem to have had Stark Industries weapons, did you know that? One of my own shells wounded me, damaged my heart. Nearly killed me,” Tony says.

Justin glances between the two of them and then looks over at the door, and says, “Maybe I should?”

Tony shakes his head and strolls over to the desk, perching on the edge. “No, no, Justin, don’t go. Why go? We’re talking about happy times, right?”

Justin shares a look with Ty as if he’s trying to follow clues from the man, but Tony knows he’s thrown Ty for a loop as well. If he can keep him off balance he might be able to glean some information about the set-up, who is responsible for the weapons deals, and the kidnapping. 

“Tony?” Ty says and his expression changes from one of certainty to one of doubt, and worry. 

“Nothing, nothing, just worried about the stocks and what the investors would do if something bad hits,” he says and levels a stare at Ty. 

Ty clears his throat and launches a counter attack. “Justin and I thought it might be a great idea to book this club he knows for the bachelor party. I want the best for you, Tones. I really do.”

“A club? It’s private, right? I don’t want any of these high traffic places,” Tony says.

“Private, great dancers, nice atmosphere. I bring Vanko there when he’s in town,” Justin says.

“Christ, Vanko’s a thug,” Tony says and twists his lips in disdain.

“No, I’m serious, this place is high class. Got all the best liquor, great dancers. I mean there’s this dude who must be over six foot or some shit, and he’s dressed up in this thing that looks like a chick’s strapless swim suit with stars and stripes. Heels, the whole nine yards. Gives a decent lap dance too, according to Vanko.” Justin waggles his eyebrows at Tony and grins at Ty. “Well, should I book it?”

“Already? The wedding is a month away,” Tony says.

“We’re late as it is. I need to get it before it gets booked. These things are hard enough to plan, don’t tell me you want a tea party and little shower games.” He giggles but it sounds like an insane cackle. “I got the place in the Hamptons and I’m gonna bring these guys in for the entertainment. What’d’ya say?”

“The club sounds good, I’d like a good lap dance from Spangles.” 

“Now, Tones, don’t go making me jealous,” Ty says and tilts it with a little whine at the end. 

Tony smiles and shakes his head. “Ty, you know I only have eyes for you.”

Ty weighs his answer before he smiles and blows a kiss at Tony as he starts for the door. 

“I gotta run, ladies,” Tony says and escapes to the suite of offices. At the reception desk, the new person from Legal glances at him and smiles.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Nan, NA-.”

“Natalia,” she says and tears off a piece of paper to hand it to him. He doesn’t take it so she slides it across the high counter separating her from the lobby to the office suites. “A message came in for you, sir.”

“Oh, thanks,” he says and picks it up. She eyes him and looks at the paper. He reads it.

_You need coffee. Go to your favorite donut shop._

“I-wh.”

She purses her lips and shifts her gaze to the paper again and then back to meet his eyes. 

“Oh, if anyone needs me, I’m getting coffee,” Tony says. “Apparently not from the expensive cappuccino makers in our offices but at the dirty donut shop down the street.”

“I’ll make sure the message is received, sir.”

He does a double take and then heads toward the elevators. While he rides the lift down to the lobby, he searches for his phone, finds it, and immediately hits Rhodey’s number.

It only takes one ring for him to answer. “Tony, hey, how are you? I’ve been worried about you. Nothing like leaving your best friend in the dark, or am I not your man of honor anymore?”

“What?” Tony scowls, “No, Rhodey, yes you’re still my best man, and why is it heteroes can’t get over the fact that there are not female and male roles in a same sex relationship? What the hell, I am not the bride.” He considers whether or not he should hang up.

“Hey, hey, I’m just yanking your chain.” Rhodey’s voice turns serious. “I haven’t heard from you in over a month, I’m worried.”

“Yeah, about that, I’m sorry. I just, I’m trying to figure out a few things.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“About as good as the fun-vee worked out,” Tony says.

“Wow, that amazingly good. Okay, I’m in town for a bit, let’s get together?”

“You’re in New York?”

There’s a pause and then Rhodey clears his throat. “Actually, no, not really. I’m in Dubai right now, but I can get there. I’m due some leave.”

Tony chuckles and feels a warmth toward his friend he’s dearly missed. “Okay, let’s plan on it. When can you make it back?”

“Give me a few days, I’ll be there.”

“Great, see you then,” Tony disconnects as he steps off the elevator and crosses the lobby. 

He exits without a glance backward and heads toward the donut shop in question. It isn’t his favorite place, but he’s frequented it enough to know it’s the place indicated on the cryptic note. He walks down the block, passed an alley, and then into the rinky dink place. It’s tiny, fit in between two skyscrapers. It reminds him of the stories of old timers bent on not selling their house to the land developers. He wonders what little old man and woman might be behind Carl and Ellie’s Bake Shop.

He presses inside and, since it is the middle of the day, the place is barren of any other occupants but the one eyed spy wonder. He frowns and settles in the booth.

“You rang?”

Fury glowers at him like a bulldog before a fight. “You actually did the ringing, Stark.”

That’s true, Tony can admit to that little fact. “Yeah, I want in, I want to find out what’s going on and what’s happening in my company.”

“Now, see that’s the first sane thing you’ve said in a while.”

“I’m not sure what that means since we don’t regularly talk,” Tony says and the waitress sets a mug of black coffee in front of him. “I didn’t ord-.”

“I did,” Fury says and hunches those massive shoulders forward causing the leather coat to groan and creak in response. “I know this isn’t easy, Stark, these people are your family. But Ms. Potts came to us with credible evidence but it’s not binding. We need more.”

Tony thinks about Ty, how long he’s known him, how long Obie has been there for him. How their lives have been entwined for years. Through the death of Tony’s parents, through Tony’s addictions, and then when he returned from Afghanistan. “These people are my family.”

“We appreciate that,” Fury says.

“I don’t think you do,” Tony says. “I want to see the evidence that you’ve gathered and I want to talk with Pepper, face to face.”

Fury leans back in the bench seat as he studies Tony. He chews on it, and then says, “You’re a smart man, Stark.”

“Yeah, a genius is like that.” 

“Roll your eyes all you want, I’ve met geniuses who didn’t have the common sense to come in out of the rain.” Fury raises a finger as if he’s calling in the waitress over for the check. Instead he sees Natalie from the office standing in the shadows of the door.

“What the-.”

“Natasha Romanov, she’ll be your contact inside.” 

Natasha or Natalie slides in next to Fury and narrows her eyes at him as if she mentally scanning him. It creeps him out. When did his life become a spy game?

“I still want-.”

“We’ll get you your meeting with Ms. Potts, and we will allow you to see the evidence so far. You need to watch your back. We have some indications that you may be a target,” Fury says.

“A target for what?” Tony asks. “Ty loves me, we’re getting married.”

Suddenly, Natasha whips out a file – from where he has no idea since she’s wearing the most obscenely tight leather get up he’s ever laid eyes on. “Tiberius Stane only recently came out as homosexual. All his other partners and dalliances have been with females.”

“I know that,” Tony says. “I grew up with him, for God’s sake.”

She opens the file folder that shows photographs with Ty with various women, in different states of undress. “These were all taken within the last month. He’s been hiring prostitutes for some time.”

Tony swallows thickly and tries to force away the funneling of his perceptions, but all he can see, all he can focus on is the girls in Ty’s arms. “It doesn’t matter. He’s bi, so what? I haven’t been. We’ve been going through a rough spot.”

“Get with the program, Stark, your fiancé is scamming you. At the very least, he wants your company, at the most, he wants you dead.” 

“Why do you care?” Tony snaps and tries to hide his shaking hands around the cup of coffee. “It’s just another melodrama to be played out in the gossip rags.”

“What I care about is that he and his father have a taste for selling arms to terrorists.”

“So you’re not doing this to save me but to save the weapons I’m not even making anymore.”

“Are you so sure?” Natasha says and waits for him to catch up. He hates it when people do that – because most of the time he’s already there and back, but this time the emotional turmoil slows him down, like wadding through molasses. 

“You’re not making sense.”

“We have credible evidence that new weapons manufactured by Stark Industries are ending up in the hands of terrorists. The same terrorist ring that took you and the same ones that you escapes.” Fury says. “It’s up to you, Stark, who you’re going to believe.”

He sludges through the muck of his brain and bites back the pain of knowing his life right now is a lie. “That son of a bitch. I will break him.” He slams the coffee mug down and it sloshes over the rim of the cup onto the saucer.

“No, you won’t.” Natasha says.

“No, you’re going to take him down, along with his father. We need your help.”

“I need to see the evidence and Pepper first.”

“Done,” Fury says. “It’ll take a little while.”

“I don’t have much time,” Tony says. “I need to call off the wedding.”

“Don’t-.” Natasha says. “Everything has to proceed as usual.”

Tony glances down at the evidence of his fiance’s betrayal. “I only have a month.”

“It won’t take that long,” Fury assures him.

“It better not,” Tony says and slides out of the booth. “I want to see Pepper now.”

“Tomorrow,” Natasha says. “I can set something up for tomorrow.”


	7. Chapter 7

Steve takes the weekend off, he needs it. He’s been busting his ass at the club in order to make the payment to Schmidt. He barely scraped it up. He’d lowered his standards at the club, gave lap dances to Vanko any time the man came in, even ignored the wandering hands if it meant an extra twenty in his tip bucket. He can stomach it, he can deal with it. Why is he lying in a puddle on the floor on Sunday afternoon as Emma crawls over him and plays with her superhero action figures? 

He made the payment, he should be happy, but the next payment is due and he’s short – again. Emma needs new braces and he doesn’t have decent insurance. He bought into the Affordable health care, but he purchased the cheapest one he could, and he realizes that was a huge mistake – especially since everyone around here seems to be falling apart. At least, right now, on this nice warm day, Emma seems content to hop about the living room, climbing over him as he naps, and chatters on about what’s happening in her superhero world.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Princess?”

She huffs at him with the cutest little scowl on her face. His offense will torture him for long days and nights to come. She hobbles over to him since she’s not wearing the new braces and plops down his chest. “Told you I’m not a princess.”

“Yeah, yeah, did we decide on Wonder Woman or She-Hulk, because right now I’m going with She-Hulk,” he says and chokes out a gag from her weight on his chest. She picks up on his bad acting right away.

“Daddy,” she says and lengthens it out so it sounds like she’s skip from five to fifteen in a millisecond.

“Sorry, sweetie, what is it?”

“Are you gonna sleep all day?” Emma says and perches over him. Her long dark ringlets tickle his face as she hovers.

“No, no,” Steve says, relenting. His plan had been to nap as much as he could with the television streaming Netflix and her newest obsession. But she’s restless and he promised. “Okay, I’m getting up. What do you want to do today?”

“The park? I want to go to the park,” she says and her smiles is infectious.

“Let me get ready and I’ll pack a picnic lunch, how about that?” Steve says and she bounces on his chest a few times, enough to cause a few rough groans and then she rolls to the side. 

“Is Uncle Bucky gonna come?” she asks as he disappears into the bathroom to clean up.

“No, sweetie, Uncle Bucky is with his friend Natasha.”

“They suck face,” Emma says and makes little kissing noises as he washes his face and pulls out the electric razor. He’s not a big fan of the electric razor, but he doesn’t have time for a proper shave. It’ll do in a pinch. 

He digs his clothes out of the hall closet and then goes back into the bathroom, quickly donning a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He comes back out and Emma has two of the superheroes in the throes of a battle or they could be kissing – he’s not sure.

“Do you know that sometimes Uncle Bucky says he loves Natasha?” Emma says as she trails after him into the kitchen area.

“Really?” He knew that Bucky had it hard for Natasha, but he hadn’t known their relationship progressed so far. “Did he tell Natasha or just you?”

“They say it to one another and then kiss all the time,” Emma says and flops down on the floor in the center of the kitchen prep area, her arms wide. “It’s disgusting.”

“No, it’s not. When two people love each they say that and kiss. It’s nice.”

She flips over as he prepares a few grape jelly sandwiches, since she’s allergic to peanut butter. She likes cream cheese with her sandwich. “Did you kiss my mommy?”

“Yes, I did,” Steve says and stops to look at her.

“But Mommy is gone now, she’s dead.” Emma climbs back to a sitting position which is no mean feat for her. He squats down next to her and lightly touches her shoulder.

“Yes, honey, but I’m here for you now. Do you want me to tell you a story about Mommy?”

She considers him, her dark eyes wide and soft. “No, I don’t need you to, I’m just worried.”

“Worried?” A five year old should not be worried. “What about?”

“That you don’t have anyone to love anymore,” Emma says.

He smiles and he melts a little inside as she searches his expression with silent imploring. “I have you.”

“No, not like that,” she says and there’s an exasperation in her voice far beyond her years. “You need to have your own person to love. Like Uncle Bucky has Natasha.”

“Well, maybe someday,” Steve says and tries to deny the fact that over the last few weeks he’s been enjoying one of his student’s company far too much. “Go wash your hands and go potty before we leave.”

“Don’t have to go,” Emma says.

“Go anyway,” Steve replies and raises his eyebrow at her when she thinks about protesting again. Finally she heaves up and gets to her feet. “You want your braces now?”

“After I potty,” she says and decides it’s easier to crawl to the bathroom.

Turning back to the task at hand, Steve finds the small lunch bag they use when they go picnicking and thinks about Emma and her concerns. It’s cute that she’s worried about him but she has her own mountains to defeat, trying to climb his as well will only tax her. He folds up the wax paper around the sandwiches and shakes his head.

“If only,” he murmurs and thinks about Tony Stark again. Tony Stark who has been invading his dreams and his sketches recently. He would never have predicted that he’d be a little more than smitten by the man who freakishly peered into his storefront just a month or so ago. It seems ridiculous to think about, but the fact that Tony hangs around after each class only encourages Steve’s fantasies. 

Last week, Tony stayed after class until nearly eleven. Steve admitted later he felt terrible for missing Emma’s bed time but Bucky only hit him in the shoulder. 

“What? You ain’t allowed a little me time?” Bucky had asked.

Steve only bowed his head and smirked. He hadn’t confessed to Bucky that he’d spent the time leaning back on the craptastic couch in the back of the art class discussing anything and everything with Tony Stark.

He couldn’t, because it is a stupid daydream and Tony is off limits. Tony is getting married and, even though any time his fiancé was mentioned Tony’s mood darkened, Steve has to work within reality. 

Though sometimes he thinks he isn’t the only one with the crush. 

“You ever wonder where you’d be right now, if something in your past didn’t happen?” Tony had asked as the night matured last week.

“What do you mean?” Steve had asked as he sipped his coffee and tried not to think about how tantalizingly close Tony sat on the couch. After Steve had finished cleaning up, they’d both collapsed on the couch closer together than they needed to be; even though it was a ratty couch it was a huge monstrosity. 

“I went to Afghanistan got kidnapped, held for months, came back and everything changed.”

“Didn’t you stop the weapons manufacturing then?”

Tony had sighed, a heavy sound that signified so much more. He turned his head and said, “That’s about the only thing that came out of Afghanistan I can mark as a good thing.”

“But you went back, you built those schools, donated tons of money to rebuild those villages where you’d been held because of terrorists were assaulting the people.” 

Tony’s expression softened and he smiled. “You are always full of surprises, Teach.”

“It isn’t all that hard, I keep up,” Steve had said. “Plus, I was in Afghanistan, and I saw what was going on, it’s not hard to connect the dots.”

“So, if you had to do it all over again, would you still go to war? Would it have been something you would have done?”

“It wasn’t about going to war, really.” Steve shrugged. “It was about doing the right thing. The people needed someone to help them. People tend to ignore or forget that the terrorists besieged their own countries first, their fellow Muslims. I don’t like bullies, I don’t care who they are. I wanted to help.”

“And you ended up with a lung thing, right?” Tony had asked with a lazy gesture to Steve’s chest.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“Well, I’ve seen you use an inhaler, and they don’t usually let someone with asthma in the army, especially not into an active war zone.”

Steve had quirked a brow at him. “Wow, I forget you know a lot about the military.”

“Lots of people do,” Tony said and laid back on the couch. “I kind of wish I could forget.”

After a long silence, Steve said, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Tony turned to him, his face partially blocked by the cushions of the couch.

“For whatever happened to you, for what made you so cynical that you put on that act of casual disregard and arrogance. Whatever happened, I hope you get over it-.”

Tony sat up then placed his empty mug on the table next to the couch and announced. “Well, that’s enough for me, Teach. I gotta go.”

Without ceremony, Tony had left and Steve ached to call him back. He wanted to apologize, to tell Tony he hadn’t meant to pry or cut so close to the bone. Over the course of the week, he’d thought about calling Tony, or emailing him – he had the basic contact information for every student. He held back, because it wasn’t his business, and they weren’t dating. He isn’t even sure they are technically friends or not. 

Monday looms, though, and he doesn’t even know if Tony will show up at class. Maybe he won’t and Steve’s pining will have to wither away and die a good death. 

“Daddy, are you sleep walking?”

“Wh-what?” Steve jars to attention and realizes he’s standing at their refrigerator staring absently into it. “Sorry, sweetie. Just finding some juice boxes to take on our picnic.”

“Apple.”

“You want apple?” He digs through the drawer and finds the requested flavor. “What about orange burst.”

She coughs and makes yucky noises. 

“Okay, looks like Daddy gets to drink the disgusting flavor,” he says and stows it in the canvas bag. He closes the fridge and turns to find Emma ready with her braces clasped around her legs. “Wow, you did that on your own?”

“Yeah, the new ones are easy.”

“Okay then,” Steve says and bends down to check. Everything seems in order, so he says, “I’m going to run and get a hoodie just in case and then we can go.”

“Cap hoodie.”

“Sure, sweetie.” He frowns. He thinks he put it in the wash bin. Digging it out, he sniffs it – not bad – whatever – and tosses it on his shoulder as he joins Emma in the living room again. “Ready.”

“Yep.”

He goes to open the door and bumps right into Tony standing there with his hand perched ready to knock. “Oh, ah, yes, hello.”

“Hmm, hello? Tony, what are you doing here?”

Tony peeks around Steve to get a glimpse of Emma, but Steve steps in front of his daughter and stops him. 

“I was just in the neighborhood-.”

“Doubt that,” Steve says. 

“Well, I-.” Tony screws up his face. “Okay so, I wasn’t but I have the name of a doctor for you and I thought I’d stop by and give it to you.”

“Oh, that’s strange and what kind of doctor?”

“Cardiologist,” Tony says but he draws it out car-deee ol-ogiiiist. He keeps trying to get a look at Emma.

“Excuse me,” Steve says and places a hand on Tony’s chest. He repeats it when he clearly doesn’t have Tony’s full attention. “Hello, excuse me?”

“Oh, yes, is that your daughter?”

“Why? Are you some kind of pervert?”

Tony jerks and blinks several times. “Seriously? You ask me that?”

“I ask you because you’re acting weird. Who suddenly comes by their art teacher’s house on a Sunday afternoon with the excuse of having a doctor’s name?” Steve presses his hand against Tony, keeping him at bay.

Tony deflates and throws his hands up. “Okay, I surrender. I wanted to get out of the house. Things weren’t the best. I mean they’re planning the bachelor party again, and shit it’s all they talk about. I just didn’t want to be there, after everything.”

“Everything?” Steve says and drops his hand. 

“Yes, I finally got to see my friend yesterday,” Tony says and Steve’s intrigued. He peers back at his daughter and then at their little lunch. 

“We were going for a picnic, do you want to join us?” Steve says and realizes how stupid and inane he must sound.

“Oh, I-.” Tony stutters and Steve’s just about to rescind the invitation when Tony claps his hands and agrees. “Sure why not?”

“Okay,” he says and turns around to see Emma looking up at him with those wide dark eyes and long lashes. “Emma, is it okay if Mister Tony comes with us on the picnic?”

Emma tilts her head as if she’s appraising him and then she nods. “Yeah, it’d be okay. I think.”

“Well, that’s good, because I make a great date.”

Emma giggles and looks up at Steve with a glorious sparkle in her eyes. He can read her a mile away and shushes her with a finger to his lips. 

They start down the stairs, but, of course, Emma wants to walk the flights by herself. It’s slow and agonizing. Steve wants to apologize but Tony gestures for him to stop. 

“If the girl is a superhero than she needs her strength, right?”

“Right,” Emma says, swing one of her braced legs down the step using her crutches to guide her.

“Of course, if you’d want, and only if you wanted to, you might encourage your loyal fans to support you and give you a hand once in a while,” Tony says.

“Once in a while,” Emma says.

“Like a piggyback ride, that’d be useful when the criminals are calling.”

“Yeah,” Emma says and plunks down the other leg.

“Maybe I could like practice now, for you. You want to try?” Tony says.

She sizes him up again and then nods as she giggles. Tony gets in front of her and she hops onto his shoulders, handing over her crutches to Steve. He nearly has a heart attack as Tony acts like a horse galloping down the rest of the stairs much to Emma’s delighted squeals. 

Once they get down the stairs, Steve realizes they won’t be able to use the bike he rides with Emma in the rider seat to get to the park. He has a moment of indecision but then figures he can carry Emma most of the way.

Locking up as they leave through the back entrance of the building, Steve says, “How’d you know where to find me?”

Tony shifts Emma off of his shoulders and Steve grabs hold of her, keeping a steady hand as he carries her along. He hands the crutches to Tony, who only hesitates for a second before grabbing them.

“Oh, I remembered you went upstairs to get my refund when I considered dropping the class. I figured you lived up there.” 

“The school was closed.”

“The backdoor wasn’t,” Tony says and they continue down the block. 

Routinely, Steve sees Tony in jeans and a t-shirt, with an occasional hoodie. Today, he’s wearing a suit jacket over the t-shirt and khaki pants. Tony takes out sunglasses as they follow the lane toward the small neighborhood park. 

“I needed to get away. Somewhere no one would find me.” Tony doesn’t look at him while they walk. “I started to drive, ended up in front of the art school, thought I’d drop by.”

“With the lame excuse about a doctor?”

“I hate doctors,” Emma says.

“Don’t we all, kiddo,” Tony says. “But that wasn’t an excuse. I remembered that you said Emma has a heart murmur or something?”

“Yeah, she does, have a some heart issue,” Steve says and cannot believe that Tony tucked that away in his memory. “She’s doing okay right now though. Stable. But I appreciate it.”

“I’ll give you the number when we get back,” Tony says and smiles. Even though he’s wearing the dark glasses, Steve spots the smiles spread over Tony’s expression. 

“You should come play superheroes with us,” Emma says and she wiggles around in Steve’s arms so that she leans over to Tony. “I’ll let you be Iron Man.”

“Oh you will?” Tony says and mouths to Steve _who’s Iron Man_.

As they walk through the wrought iron gates of the small neighborhood park and garden, Steve blows Tony’s secret. “You don’t know who Iron Man is? Can you believe that Emma, he doesn’t even know who Iron Man is?”

“That’s redunkulous.” She giggles at him.

Emma does a little squirm in Steve’s arms and he puts her down, helps her with her crutches, so that she can walk along side of them. They head toward the duck pond, her favorite area of the park. Emma toddles ahead of them, with her new braces she’s making good progress. 

“Well are you going to tell me who this Iron Man is or not?” Tony says as he follows her toward the pond. 

“He’s a robot guy, with sec’et identity.”

“Secret, dear,” Steve says and sets up a small picnic on the bench near the pond. There are a few duck swimming in the water. 

“He loves Captain America,” Emma says and smiles as she does grabby hands at him.

“Okay, wait a minute,” Steve says and takes out the little bag of cut up grapes for the ducks. “Slowly, don’t throw them all at once. And don’t throw the plastic bag. That belongs in the trash.”

Tony watches as Emma grabs the bag of grapes and heads toward the shoreline to throw the grape halves into the water at the ducks.

“I think that’s pestering the ducks, you know,” Tony says but takes a seat next to Steve on the bench. “I thought you were supposed to feed them bread or popcorn or something.”

“That’s not healthy for the ducks,” Steve says. 

“Oh and we’re all about healthy ducks in the city,” Tony says with a righteous flare that causes Steve to laugh.

“What do you have against ducks?”

But Tony’s not listening, he only has eyes for Emma as she tosses the grapes into a small throng of ducks. “She’s great, you’re very lucky.”

“Yeah, I am.” 

“Do you miss her mother?”

Steve thinks about it. Kassie was a great friend, a good teacher. “She was a wonderful person. We were only together for a short period of time. She taught me a lot. I owe her.”

“Having someone, it’s good, you know,” Tony says and Steve cannot tell if he’s asking, or testing the waters to see if the myths are true or not.

“It’s nice, but I don’t have much time these days to look for someone,” Steve says.

“Always on the run, huh?”

“Something like that.” Steve sets out the napkins he brought to cover the bench between them. “You must be getting anxious about your wedding?”

“Something like that,” Tony says. He pauses before he continues. “I don’t think I want to get married.”

Steve stays still, silent. He only just started to get to know Tony, he shouldn’t encourage him one way or another on this subject. It isn’t any of his business, but he wants it to be. He clears his throat and forces himself to keep busy with the lunches. He pulls out the sandwiches. He made two for himself, so Tony can have one of his. 

“It’s just jelly, since Emma’s allergic to peanuts.”

Tony is undeterred. “I came home from Afghanistan, Rhodey, my best friend had to leave for another deployment. There was a lot going on and I don’t blame him. Plus Pepper was gone, and there was only Ty. He’s not the best, you know. But I owe him.” Tony looks down at the sandwich. “After my parents died, Obie was there, Ty’s dad. I mean I owe them so much. Especially Ty.”

“Your fiancé?” 

“Yeah, he was there, and I was struggling, a lot. I would have fallen off the wagon. Started with the booze again, but he was there,” Tony says with a shrug. “He’s not a nice person, not by a long shot. Neither is Obie, he’s a bastard. I know that. He doesn’t want to change the game of the company. It’s a struggle.”

“Even with your fiancé?”

“Yeah, and here’s the thing he never showed that kind of interest before. Seems after I came home, he couldn’t leave my side. I was touched you know, now I wonder what it was all about,” Tony says as Emma wanders over. She picks up one of the jelly sandwiches and takes two bites before going back to the ducks. “We kind of grew up together. Had a lot of fun, he went his way, I went mine.” He bites the sandwich and Steve hands him a napkin and notices that Tony doesn’t protest. “We were buddies, party buddies. He’d take home the hot new chick, I’d find a guy or a girl and we’d have a good time. It was good.”

“But you’re together now?” Steve says and cringes. He’s not Lucy Lovelorn here, he shouldn’t be trespassing into areas of Tony’s love life. They’ve only just become – is it friends? He doesn’t even know.

“Yeah, we are,” Tony says. “After I came back, Ty was there. I think Obie kind of asked him to, just to be with me. It was nice to be taken care of. Ty can be a prick most of the time, but he was good to me when I first came back.”

“You said your friend Pepper was gone?” Maybe he can divert the conversation.

“Yeah, she was threatened actually,” Tony says and there’s a glimmer in his eyes that Steve swears might be tears.

“Is she all right?”

Tony smiles. “Yeah, yeah, I got to see her yesterday, finally, after so long. She’s good. But she’s right. About a lot of things.”

“Do you love her?” Steve says because asking is breaking his heart, but at the same time he has to know, has to figure out what Tony is up to here. 

“Yes, I love her, she’s one of my closest friends. But not, in the way you think,” Tony says and then stands up after he puts the partially eaten sandwich down on the covered bench. He walks a few feet and then turns around to Steve. “My fiancé might be part of a plot to sell weapons to the enemy and to kill me.”

Steve coughs and chokes a bit, thinking that an asthmatic attack might be on the cusp of happening. He settles with a hand on his chest and says, “What?”

“Seems things are more complicated in my life than I thought,” Tony says. “God, it feels good to get that off my chest.”

“I mean, what?” Steve says again.

“Some government organization contacted me, and it looks like Ty and Obie, the closest person I had to a father figure, are selling arms to the terrorists.” Tony twists around and looks at the ducks. “They scared the hell out of Pepper, enough that when this organization contacted her, they took her and put her in a protection program or some shit.”

“What are you going to do?” Steve says.

“This org, they have some circumstantial evidence, but I have to get more,” Tony says.

“Can you?” Steve asks and knows it might be risky, it will be risky. He tries to push away the pounding in his ears, the cycle of fear that ratchets up in every soldier just before the big landing. 

“I think, I need to get on Obie’s computer. Ty’s won’t have anything. I think he’s just a patsy, the person to keep me busy while Obie continues his underhanded deals,” Tony says. 

“Won’t it be dangerous?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, but I have my ways. I can get there,” Tony says. “His system is separate from mine so I have to physically get into his personal computer. He’s not keeping anything on the work systems.”

“Tony, that’s dangerous, I can’t believe a government organization is asking you to do that,” Steve says.

“I can’t believe I just told you all that. Christ, I’m sorry and to think the whole reason I walked into your little art school was for your friend.”

“Bucky?” Steve says and as the same time his still racing heart sinks – Tony was looking for Bucky. “Oh.”

“Yeah, for his arm.”

“What?” Steve says and watches as Emma is surrounded by a few mallards. She giggles and tosses the grape halves; they all honk at her.

“Actually now that I see your little girl, I can probably fashion better braces for her. It’d be easier for her to walk, too. What’s wrong with her?”

Steve scowls. “Nothing’s _wrong_ with her.”

“Shit, no, I’m sorry,” Tony says and opens his hands. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry, people are always asking invasive questions.” Steve stands up and walks over to where Emma has decided it is best to sit in the muddy shore and stack little pebbles; the ducks have wandered away. “Emma has a load of health issues for different reasons. Her legs – that’s a growth deformity. The braces should be enough to straighten them out. Her heart is another.” He stops because sometimes he can’t face the issues. “But you said you came in after Bucky?”

Tony creases his brow as if he’s going to argue, as if he wants to hear more of Steve’s sad stories. “Hmm, yeah, I don’t know if you follow Business Weekly or Wall Street Journal or anything like that, but I’m currently switching the company over to technology that’s not focused on the war machine.”

“So, how does Obie feel about that?”

“Not great, we’ve had a lot of arguments about it,” Tony says. “I’ve developed SmartPhones, AI-.”

“AI?”

“Artificial Intelligence,” Tony says. “Green energy, and I’m working on prosthetics.”

“Wow,” Steve says. “Kind of all over the place there. What will the investors think?”

Tony claps his hands and throws back his head. “Here I thought you were some naïve soldier boy. Indeed, what will the investors think? Well, I think that the AI and SmartPhones will take off, very advanced. The green energy is going to blow everyone away. As for the prosthetics, it’s based on the green energy cell and the AI. It’ll blow your friend out of the water.”

“I think he’d just like to have an arm,” Steve says. “That last one was so bad he ended up in the hospital. The infection was so bad the local VA hospital couldn’t handle it. They had to transfer him, we ended up with a bill to end all bills. Still paying that one off.”

“Damn, I’d’ve thought that the military would foot the bill for all of that,” Tony says.

“They’re supposed to, but it doesn’t work out quite the way you think. We weren’t career veterans and the VA and Tricare aren’t all that great to work within the system,” Steve says.

“But he doesn’t have a prosthesis right now?” Tony asks as Emma hops up and sloshes over to him.

“No, no, sweetie, you’re all muddy.” Steve bends down and tries to clean off some of the dirt. Her braces will need to be cleaned again. As he kneels and picks out the dirt, he says, “No, Bucky doesn’t have a prosthesis right now.”

“He makes moon faces at Natasha.”

Tony jerks and says, “What? Who?”

Steve grimaces. “I can’t get this clean, we need to head back.”

“Who does Bucky make moon faces at?” Tony asks.

“Natasha, she kisses him on the _lips_.” Emma smacks her lips a few times and Steve chuckles.

“Don’t mind her, she’s obsessed with couples right now,” Steve climbs to his feet. “Tony?”

He frowns and shakes his head. “Has to be a coincidence. Who is this Natasha?”

“We’ve known her for ages, she was in our squad,” Steve says. “They hit it off, back then and have been together forever. I think Bucky would be living with her if he knew I could get along without the need for backup child care.”

The tension in Tony’s shoulders settles a degree, but Steve can tell he’s still antsy. “What’s up?” He cleans up the little picnic lunch as Emma digs in the bag for drinks. “That’s not helping sweetie.”

“I’m thirsty, duck water is yucky.”

“You did not drink the pond water did you?”

She giggles and shakes her head, her dark curls bouncing about and then Steve looks up at Tony who smiles as the rest of the stress drains from him.

“Nothing,” Tony says. “Your Natasha doesn’t happen to work for a super secret spy organization?”

Steve lifts his shoulder. “Not that I know of, she’s a paralegal.”

“Oh,” Tony says and then a long drawn out. “Oh.” 

“What?”

Tony shakes his head and says, “I gotta get back to the grind. It was nice, this little thing.”

Before Tony can escape, Steve catches up with him, telling Emma to stay at the bench. “Hey, hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Will I,” Steve starts but then backpedals. “Will you be in art class tomorrow night?”

Tony smiles. “Unless Ty has the bachelor party on Monday night, I’d say so.”

“Great, good,” Steve fumbles for words. “Because you know, you should always practice. It’s good to practice.”

“Whatever you say, Teach,” Tony says and gives him a half assed salute. 

Steve turns back to Emma who happens to be sitting on the park bench drinking her juice and swinging her legs. When he goes to sit down next to her, she says, “Daddy likes Tony.”

“Tony is Daddy’s art student.”

“But you look at him with moon eyes.”

“I do not,” Steve says and hopes to hell Tony didn’t see him with moon eyes. He rubs at his eyes as if it will banish the ability to yearn after someone. Damn it, he feels like a teenager.

“Do you like girls?” Emma says and sips her drink.

“Of course, I do. I love you.”

“Ew, not like that, like Uncle Bucky likes Natasha?” Emma flutters her long lashes and grins.

She is going to be the death of him, someday. “Yes, I like girls. I happen to like boys and girls in that way.”

“Oh,” Emma says. “They don’t have that on TV.”

“Well, the Disney Channel is still catching up to the times, sweetie,” Steve says and packs up the rest of the lunch. 

“Is there something wrong with you?” Emma says.

“No, why would there be?” Steve says and stops what he’s doing to focus on her.

Emma shrugs. “I just thought if there was something wrong with you, maybe we could be more alike, and all.” 

He hugs her close and kisses the crown of her head. “Oh honey, we’re a lot alike.”

“You don’t have crooked legs,” Emma says.

“Oh but I have a crooked smile, look at this,” he says and smiles at her, trying hard to make it as silly as possible. She giggles and then he adds, “Plus anytime I try and kiss someone this happens.” He leans in and gives her a raspberry on her cheek.

She screeches with delight and bats him away. “You do not.”

“Oh yes I do.”

“Do not.”

“Do so, let me show you again.”

She giggles and kicks and forgets for a little while. By the time they get back to the flat she’s created an entire scenario where Tony comes by as Iron Man and rescues Steve who happens to be playing Captain America from some evil doer, that she likes to call Red Skull. There’s a lot of explosions involved and possibly a few robots or other evil minions. In the end she has Iron Man and Captain America in a pillow fort kissing. 

He collapses on the couch with a sketch book when his phone rings. It’s the club and he hopes to death they are not calling him in. Bucky isn’t around and he’s not sure he can call anyone else to come by and watch Emma. Even Peter Parker, the kid from down the street happens to have a more active social life than he does at the moment.

“Hey?”

“Hi Steve, it’s Maria.”

“How are you?” Steve says and then quickly adds, “I can’t come in tonight, no child care.”

“Oh that’s fine,” Maria says. “But I have an opportunity for you.”

“Oh, what’s that?” Steve says and places his sketch pad to the side.

“It’s a private party,” Maria says. “Booked by none other than Justin Hammer.”

“Oh.” He sinks back. “You know how I feel.”

“It’s booked by him, not for him. It’s a big celebrity bash. I’m not allowed to give out any details because of the privacy agreement. But it’ll be at an exclusive resort in the Hamptons.”

“I can’t go to the Hamptons-.”

“Give me a minute to tell you about it before you discount it, okay?” Maria says. “It’ll be in three weeks, and it will be over a weekend. Saturday night will be the big performance. So you only have to be there for that Saturday night, I can have Thor drive you back to the city and you’ll be back by Sunday morning brunch. It’s a lot of money, Steve, a lot.”

“How much?”

“If you wanted to quit dancing for a few months you could,” Maria says. “And that doesn’t include any tips you could make.”

“Oh, wow,” Steve says and looks at Emma. Considering he has three weeks, he can probably schedule something with Bucky. He’s not too fond of the idea of private parties at exclusive resorts. He’s heard about what goes on, how to make those tips. He’s not a sex worker, he’s a dancer. He needs the money. “Yeah, okay, count me in.”

“Great, especially since they asked for you specifically.”

“Okay, sure I can do it,” Steve says and they disconnect after she gives him some of the basic details. He’s not sure how to feel about it, but he can deal with it. The money will help him pay the mortgage and be able to start saving toward the next payments, plus help with the medical bills. It’s good, it’s fine.

He picks up his sketch book, but can’t hold the charcoal because of his shaking hands.


	8. Chapter 8

Sunday night Tony fares worse than the rest of the weekend. He finds out that Hammer booked one of his favorite getaways in the Hamptons for the bachelor party that will be catered by an exclusive club with exotic dancers to boot. He should be happy about it, but it all just signals that Tony’s rushing headlong into an uncomfortable end goal. He tries to contact Fury or Coulson or someone at the bogus detective agency, but fails. He doesn’t leave a message.

Thankfully when he tugs off his jacket and finds his way back to the penthouse after burying himself in his workshop for hours into the night, he finds out that Ty is nowhere to be found. JARVIS tells him that Ty left around dinner time with no word on his whereabouts.

“Probably out fucking some hapless prostitute.” He doesn’t want to think about how he feels sorry for the prostitute. Thank God he always insists on condoms.

After he leaves the workshop and goes to the penthouse. Since he can’t seem to contact the super secret spy organization he decides to try Pepper instead.

The joy at finally seeing her, even though it was in New Jersey still bubbles over. She stood there, radiant like the sun, her button nose, her strawberry blonde hair, her freckles – Tony felt like he’d finally come home from Afghanistan. He stood in front of her and said,

“Are those tears in your eyes, Ms. Potts, tears for your long lost boss? Were you worried?”

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “I just hate looking for another job.” And then she broke down and clutched him in her embrace. He buried his face in her shoulder and tried not to allow the tears to brim over his lids.

“Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m good, I’m okay,” Pepper had said and he pulled away from her as if to physically confirm that she was total, all in one piece. “I’m good Tony.”

“They tell me that you were threatened.”

“Not by anyone they could link to Stane, but I’m more worried about you, Tony. I heard them, they wanted you dead. Now you’re marrying Ty?”

It was then he said it – out loud for the first time. “No, I’m not. I have to keep up appearances right now, but there is no way I am going to marry that louse.”

She giggled with joy and to see her so happy, made everything worth it.

He wants to hear her again, in his unease, in his uncertainty. He connects to her number and it only rings once before she answers, “Tony, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good, I’m fine. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Her laughter sings to his heart. “You know how to make a girl feel needed, Mister Stark.”

“I try my best, Ms. Potts.” He continues through the penthouse great room, down the long hallway to his bedroom. Ty hasn’t been a frequent fixture in his bedroom for weeks. He should be alarmed that his fiancé with only a few weeks left before the wedding has been suspiciously absent, but he counts it as a win. 

“How are you?” Pepper says.

“As good as I was yesterday, and-.” He stops, he’d love to see her again, but he won’t put her in the path of danger. He turns the conversation on its head. “I think I have a crush on my art teacher.”

Pepper sighs and it feels like they were never apart. She’s always been his voice of reason, his conscience. “Your art teacher, really? You’re learning about art?”

“I’m not only learning, I’m doing-.”

“Don’t tell me you’re doing your art teacher, Tony, I’m not interested in details,” she says.

“No, I’m doing art, not my teacher, but hell I wouldn’t say no, if you know what I mean.”

“For pete’s sake of course I know what you mean,” Pepper snaps but it is fond and he smiles at the phone.

“I don’t think he’s gay, he’s gotta little girl.”

“You’re really going domestic now,” Pepper coos. “That’s sweet, Tony.”

“Not like the other guys I’ve been around. He’s wholesome, sweet. Not tarnished like some of the others I’ve been with, you know, and when I’m talking tarnished I’m talking-.”

“You don’t have to tell me, I’m perfectly aware.” She pauses and then adds. “You sound smitten.”

He heaves out a loud breath and sinks down onto his bed. “Hammer set up the bachelor party. It’s not going to be fun at all.”

“You’re not going through with the wedding, are you?” Pepper asks.

“Not if I can stop it,” Tony says. “The board is about to rebel, Obie is behind that, I’m sure. He’s manufacturing weapons even though I gave the order to stop. I need to find the real data though, right now, I have supposition and some witness accounts.”

“That isn’t enough?” Pepper says. “Because I would be willing to testify-.”

“No, because Obie has Senators behind him. Senators on the appropriations committee, and that means he’s protected.”

“Is that why SHIELD came to you?”

“Something like that, I think,” Tony says. “But this bachelor party might be the thing. Obie will be there, and he travels everywhere with his computer. I can probably slip out and get the information then.” Even as he speaks the plan solidifies. This could work, this will work. “Yeah, it might work.”

“Be careful, Tony.”

“I will.”

“I wish I could help you,” Pepper says.

“I just want you to be safe,” Tony says and they say their goodbyes before he disconnects. He lies on the bed for a long time, thinking of the party, and his plans. His mind drifts to the immediate future, to Steve, and the possibilities there. 

“Natasha’s a common enough name,” he says and he knows he’s fooling himself. It isn’t a common name. He thinks back and tries to pinpoint when and why he ended up in Brooklyn following an amputee to the art school. Happy – Happy brought him there. 

He hits the button on his phone. 

“Yeah, boss?”

“Happy did you set me up?”

“What?”

“The art school, did you set me up?”

“You said you wanted to go, I thought I was driving you?” Happy says, he sounds bewildered. “Do you need to go now?”

“It’s eleven o’clock at night, no Happy, I don’t need to go now,” Tony says and inches up the bed. “Why’d we go to that place in Brooklyn in the first place, why there?”

“Oh, oh yeah, a girl from Legal told me that-.”

“A girl from Legal told you what?” Tony snaps.

“I told her you were looking for you know, someone to help with your new idea in, you know, artificial limbs,” Happy stutters. “I don’t know, boss, was that wrong? Was it a big secret.”

“Yes, it was a secret,” Tony says and Happy goes into a long string of apologies. It amazes Tony just how much of his life has been orchestrated by other people. He doesn’t plan on that happening anymore. “Did she tell you to have me take the art class, too?”

“What? No, not at all. That was your idea, don’t blame that on me.”

“She give you the card for the detective agency?” Tony says and he already knows the answer.

“Yeah, boss, she did,” Happy says. “I’m sorry if I did anything-.”

“No, don’t worry about it, Happy, you did fine.” He disconnects before Happy can say anything because the truth is that whatever forces are behind this, at least it’s led him into the light. 

He rolls off the bed onto his feet and pads across the floor into his bathroom. At least, Rhodes will be in town soon and he can go over his plan of attack with his friend. Rhodey will be at the bachelor party and they can strategize exactly how Tony’s going to break into Obie’s computer while the party’s getting hot and heavy. It will work. 

Striping, he throws his clothes into the hamper and has JARVIS turn on the water to a hot shower. He climbs in and lets the water pelt his face and body for a good five minutes before he starts to scrub off the day. 

From what he can gather, Steve and Bucky are fairly innocent bystanders in all of this ridiculousness and spy shit. Natasha maneuvered him into her sphere of influence. He’s not entirely pleased that he’s so easily manipulated, and it won’t happen again. He puts it down to the fact he’d still be reeling from the whole abduction and coming back home. Adjustment, isn’t that what Bruce told him even though he’s _not that kind of doctor_. 

As the water pounds down, he uses the soap to clean and finds himself starting to let his mind wander toward a certain art teacher. No one would blame him if he fantasized a little bit, no one would care. No one would even know and he’s thinking of Steve and his broad back, his slim waist, but surprisingly, he concentrates on Steve’s hands.

He’s watched those hands, shape and create. He’s followed the curve and line and muscles. He thinks he knows what they look like in infinite detail, he thinks he knows what they might feel like against him, touching him, caressing him. He glides his hand down and follows the line of his hardening cock. 

Steve wouldn’t be like Ty at all, it wouldn’t be like that at all. It would have a certain grace to it, a certain power that’s potent and profound, the kind of thing that stays with him for all the days. The kind of thing that wraps him in its strength and doesn’t let go. He strokes, harder, firmer, more fiercely as he considers the feel of Steve against him. 

He hears little choked sounds and realizes it’s him. Leaning his forehead against the cool tile, he thrusts into his hand, and braces against the wall. He hasn’t gotten off in weeks, sure he’s had sex, but being with Ty is like being with a gorilla. At first he’d thought it would get better, and he tried his best, but it was always stilted and sloppy with a brute like Ty fucking him. He hadn’t gotten off and Ty only laughed at him, told him he was a fucking head case. It didn’t stop Ty, ever. And it turned Tony’s stomach to think about it.

His erection wilts slightly, but then he turns his attention back to Steve, the beauty of the man and he’s hard in seconds and needy, so needy that he’s beginning to come before he’s ready and he throws himself into it and he’s fucking his hand, and he’s moaning and muffling the syllables of Steve’s name in his throat as he spills down the wall of the shower.

When he finishes, he steps back into the water and cleans up. But then JARVIS is speaking to him.

“Sir, I wanted to tell you but you were occupied. Your fiancé is in your bedroom.”

“Shit,” Tony says and doesn’t ask JARVIS if Ty heard or not. He quickly finishes up and steps out of the shower. He towels dry and pulls on a robe before he enters his master bedroom to find Ty sitting on his bed and shaking his head.

“Here I thought you had a bad case of that PTDS or some shit.” Ty glares at him and his greased back hair glimmers in the low lighting of the bedroom.

“PTSD.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Ty says and stands up. “Here you been holding out on me. You been letting some guy named Steve fuck your tight ass?”

“That’s really none of your business,” Tony says and crosses the room to the closet. 

Ty follows him. “I kind of think it is since we’re engaged.”

Tony rolls his eyes but doesn’t look at Ty. He cannot let this get out of control. If he does, the wedding will be canceled too soon and the party will never happen. He needs that party to get into Obie’s computer, trying to do it at the office is too risky with all the security protocols in place. 

“It’s just a fantasy,” Tony says, and turns around to find Ty hulking over him. “The doctors, the shrinks told me to use fantasy to get through the rough patches. I thought you’d be happy. I thought I’d surprise you next time when we- you know fucked – that I could-.”

“Get it up,” Ty says with a sneer. “Yeah, that’d be great if my fiancé was actually turned on by me and not some guy named Steve.”

Tony holds back the words boiling to get out. He wants to lash out and point to the photos of all of the prostitutes Ty’s been to in the last month, but he doesn’t. He clamps it away, forces the words out. “Come on, let me make it up to you. I could blow you.”

Ty curls his lip and shakes his head. “No, don’t want to.”

“How can I make it up to you?” Tony says and trails after Ty as he steps away. Obviously, Ty’s been with a hooker tonight, the stench on him is enough to gag a bull, and he’d never refuse a blow job. He can never get it up twice in one night. 

“I’ll fuck your mouth tomorrow before you go to that damned art class, make you taste me all the time you’re there.”

Tony smiles and leans in to kiss Ty. He lengthens it, works it, makes it last. When he pulls away Ty is panting. “Can’t wait.”

Ty smirks at him. “You are my little whore, aren’t you?”

“Only for you,” Tony replies and then Ty kisses him again before announcing he’s hungry and wants a beer. He leaves and Tony intakes a heavy breath. “Jesus Christ, how the hell did I ever think he loved me?”

“That is the question, sir.”

Tony lifts an eye to JARVIS. “Seriously?”

“As always sir, if you would just but ask.”

“As always,” Tony mutters. “Now I have to find a way to get out of giving that ask a blow job tomorrow.”

“I can bring up a listing of different excuses for you, if you would like?” JARVIS says.

“Yeah, do it,” Tony replies and then murmurs, “I just can’t wait until this is over.”

It happens the gods really do love him, because Obie is called away for a business trip, that Tony’s almost hundred percent sure might have to do with weapons dealing, and Stane asks Ty to accompany him. They are going to be gone for the better part the next two weeks overseas and Tony celebrates by giving Ty a wonderful kiss as a sendoff and promises of something more when he returns just in time for the bachelor party. 

Tony considers getting into Obie’s office while they are away, but Obie brings his personal laptop with him. Even though it is a crap shoot, Tony does decide that it is probably the best thing to do, to be thorough. He has JARVIS break into Obie’s work computer. Other than porn there’s very little information, just as Pepper had previously reported to him.

He needs to wait it out. Fury and Coulson assure him that they are following up and that there’s a possibility Tony won’t even have to try and hack the computer, now the Obie is on the move. They have some of their best agents covering him. He hopes for the best, but prepares for the worst.

Monday night rolls around and he drives himself to the art class. He’s nervous and a little embarrassed that he jerked off to images of Steve. Yet, as soon as he enters the little school and sees the friendly faces his reservations melt away. Jane greets him while Jan sets up. 

“Hey, are you interested in going to a lecture Doctor Erik Selvig is in town from Norway,” Jane says. “He’s a close collaborator.”

“Yeah, sure, when’s the talk?”

“A week from Tuesday,” Jane says as she sits down in the metal folding chair. “My boyfriend is working that night, so I need a date.”

“You do know I’m engaged, right?” Tony says as he takes his customary seat near the back, closest to Steve.

She winks at him and her gaze drifts behind him as she says, “Yeah, right.”

Twisting around in his chair, Tony sees Steve enter with Emma following him. She clunks onto the couch and folds her arms. “I’m a big kid, I can stay upstairs by myself.”

“Uncle Bucky will be home in thirty minutes and he’ll be here to take you up. You are not staying in the flat alone, young lady.”

“Superheroes don’t need babysitters.”

“I beg to differ,” Tony says and both Steve and Emma snap to attention and gawk at him. “Yeah, Iron Man, when he was younger, his butler always took care of him.”

“I think you’re talking about Batman.”

“Nope, Iron Man, pretty sure about that,” Tony says and opens his sketch pad to flip it to the page he’s working on. Fruit and more fruit. “When do I get out of the fruit?”

Steve mutters, “Everyone’s going to whine tonight I see.”

“Grapes are part of the hazing, everyone has to do grapes,” Jane calls from her seat and then Jan chimes in. “Wait until you have to do rocks, that’s always fabulous.”

“You know this is supposed to be art as therapy not torture,” Tony says as he begins to shade the millionth grape. It takes so damned long. Each and every one. 

Steve makes his rounds as the students chatter but he ends up back at Emma’s side offering her a sketchpad and some pencils of her own to draw with as well. She’s adamant that she could be upstairs alone, doing good. 

“I could make chicken nuggets.”

“You are not using the microwave,” Steve says and offers her colored pencils. 

“No,” Emma huffs and stares at Tony. He does a double take and then she creeps over to him while Steve is busy with another student. “Daddy makes moon eyes at you when you’re not looking.”

“Hmm?” He keeps his voice down because this is a new development, a welcome one too.

“He likes you, a lot.” She pinches up her face and grins at him. She misses a tooth on the bottom.

“Sure he does, your Daddy is a good guy.” Tony stops the shading, he’s too distracted now.

“He wants to kiss you like Uncle Bucky kisses Natasha.” Emma wiggles around on her braces; she seems to have learned how to spin if she tilts in one direction on them. 

“I don’t think your father wants to kiss boys,” Tony says.

Emma giggles. “Yeah he does. He wants to kiss you.” She smacks her lips at him and then does a little dance, nearly falling over and he drops his charcoal to grab her before she falls.

“Oh, hey there,” Steve says and rushes to her side. “Stop bothering, Mister Tony. Up on the couch and-.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky says as he burst through the back door. “I just got back. I’m sorry.” 

“Thank god, no problem, Buck, can you bring her upstairs. She’s being disruptive.”

“Am not,” Emma says and then whispers to Tony. “What does di-puptive mean?”

He chuckles as Steve whisks her away and closes the door as Bucky and Emma disappear upstairs. Steve collapses a little bit on the back of the door and smiles at Tony. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem, she’s cute,” Tony says.

“Really, Tony Stark thinks a little kid is cute?” Jane says with a laugh.

“Hey, I can appreciate little cute things like ducklings and puppies and even little kids.”

“Thanks for comparing my daughter to a puppy,” Steve says and, before Tony can jump to apologize, he spots the honest expression, the open adoration Steve holds for him before the mask resolves again. 

“No problem,” Tony says and winks at him. Steve smiles and the mask flickers, and Tony might actually start believing in the honesty of children. Maybe Steve is making moon eyes at Tony. 

The class finished up, but Tony think he might have finished shading three grapes tops, of the over twenty in the charcoal picture. It’s stupid and foolish, but his heart is pounding like he’s in heat. He probably shouldn’t confess this to Bruce; the racing of his heart isn’t actually the purpose of his relaxing art therapy.

Everyone says their goodbyes and, for the first time, Tony feels awkward, out of place as Steve begins to clean up. He points to the coffee maker and says, “Do you want to get her brewing?”

“Huh?” Tony looks behind him at the empty coffee pot. “Oh yeah, sure.” He shuffles over to the coffee pot and finds the canister. He can’t believe Steve doesn’t have a Keurig, but he doesn’t say anything. His mouth is dry like he’s been sucking on chalky pastels. 

“Sorry about Emma, if she distracted you tonight,” Steve says as he folds up the chairs and stacks them.

“Oh, no, no,” Tony says. “She’s cute. I liked it. It was fun yesterday, too.”

“Really?” Steve says and retrieves the broom from the closet. “Because you bugged out pretty quick, didn’t even finish your sandwich.”

Tony fills up the pot and starts the coffee. “Sorry, I realized I had some-.”

“Place to be, I get it, Tony.” Steve gives a half shrug. “It’s nice you even thought about us at all. I know you’re going through a tough spell, and have a lot on your mind.”

“Yeah, but that was rude, of me,” Tony says. “I should have stayed. I could have stayed.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine.” Steve smiles and it’s soft and gracious like nothing Tony’s ever seen before and he wonders how it would be to wake up to that face every morning with the light from dawn filtering in through the blinds. 

Tony clears his throat and turns back to the coffee. As he does, Steve says, “There should be some cookies in the tin. Emma and I baked again.”

“Great,” Tony says and searches the back bench area to find the small tin. He opens it to find cookies with sprinkles on them. “These look good.”

“Better than the playdo ones she wanted to make,” Steve says and finishes sweeping. When he stows all the easels, he joins Tony at the bench with the coffee maker. 

He goes to the sink in the back near the closet and brings the two mugs he’s brought from his upstairs flat to the school, especially for their use. “Here you go.”

Tony checks the coffee; it’s ready and he pours them both a cup and then offers Steve a cookie from the tin.

“Thanks,” Steve says as he settles down on the couch. “You seem a little quiet tonight.”

Tony agrees with a simple nod of his head and follows suit. “It’s been a weird couple of months, I mean, since I got back.”

“I would imagine, adjusting to your new reality,” Steve says.

Tony drinks his coffee and finds it strangely satisfying since he brewed it. “I think your Natasha is my Natasha.”

“What’s that again?” Steve looks whiplashed. Tony can’t blame him since he’s skipping all over the place with conversation subjects.

“Your Natasha, I’m pretty sure is the Natalie that works at Stark Industries and is the same person that works for SHIELD, the super secret spy organization,” Tony says. “Do you know where Natasha works?”

“Hmm, Shield Bank, I thin-.” Steve stops and bows his head. “She was in our squad but did the intelligence stuff. I never knew how she got the paralegal degree. Shit.”

Tony laughs and slaps Steve’s knee. “Seems we were both taken for a ride there.”

“I wonder if Bucky knows?” Steve says and doesn’t comment on the fact Tony hasn’t removed his hand.

“Yes, that’s the big question,” Tony chuckles as he bites into one of the cookies; it is infinitely better than the last batch. He relaxes and it feels good, perfect, almost like he’s home.

“By the way, I could talk to Bucky, if you want,” Steve says. “At the rate the VA is moving, he’ll have a new arm once scientists figure out how to grow them in petri dishes.”

Tony enjoys the sparkle in Steve’s eyes, the sassiness in his tone. “Maybe we can set something up for this week.”

“Sounds good.” Steve agrees. “I’ll talk with him tonight.”

“Maybe,” Tony says and he knows he should steer clear, but when has he ever listened to that little voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Pepper. “Maybe we can get lunch or dinner this week.”

Steve turns to him, really faces him. His gaze meets Tony’s and then flicks down to his mouth and back again. If Tony didn’t know better he’d say that his art teacher’s pupils were definitely blown black because of his attraction and not the lighting in the back of the studio. 

“I’d, I’d like that, but what about-.”

“Ty is out of town with Obie, we’re safe. You can, maybe come over or I could come here, whatever works with Emma,” Tony says and he finds a weight dragging him closer to Steve, the pull of it undeniable. He needs to put the coffee mug down, he needs to wrap his arms about Steve, he needs to allow the drag to draw him in. 

“I think that would be nice,” Steve says and he’s taking the mugs and placing them on the table next to the couch. “Tony, I-.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not great at this, at reading people. But if I’m overstepping your boundaries-.”

Tony grabs the initiative and presses forward, crushing his mouth against Steve’s lips. It isn’t an elegant kiss or a perfect kiss but it is their first. Teeth click and clash, there’s a moment when they’re both tilting in the same direction, but they overcome it with mutual smiles and then they fall into it, like they’re collapsing into a gravity well. 

It’s hot and pleading and searching all at once. He hasn’t kiss anyone like this in a long time. He would beg in his mind for it to be like this with Ty, but it never was. What he has with Ty is shallow and forced; it so false it hurts. This is blindingly perfect and achingly not enough. He runs his hands up and over Steve’s shoulders, grasping him and clinging to him. 

Steve is no less enthusiastic and, for that, Tony is supremely thankful. Steve doesn’t exactly claw at him but he engulfs him, his big arms, his muscular physique encompass Tony and the kiss becomes not only an act of their lips and tongues together, but their bodies’ pursuit as well. Tony finds himself tugging up Steve’s skin tight t-shirt, running fingers up and down the washboard abdominals and heavy thick pectorals. He’s floored at Steve’s build and he wants to see it, touch all of it, and press skin against skin.

Steve breaks off and Tony looks up at him; he finds himself crushed into the ratty couch with Steve hovering over him. His face is flushed red and he’s panting and his breathing hitches.

It suddenly occurs to Tony that he’s just attacked a veteran with a lung problem. “Hey, you okay? Are you not breathing? Are you dying?”

Steve drops back and away from Tony, his face screwed up and there’s a noise, and then Tony realizes he’s laughing – hysterically laughing. He waves at Tony and shakes his head. “No – no-.” Then he can’t catch his breath and he heaves a few times. “Maybe now.” But it comes out airless and he digs for his inhaler in his front pocket, brings it to his lips, takes two puffs and slumps into the couch as his breathing evens out.

Tony settles next to him, shoulder to shoulder, he curls his fingers into Steve’s hand.

“I take it the attraction is mutual?”

“Pretty much,” Steve says and smiles. It surprises how abashed that smile is. “But you’re taken.”

Tony rubs at his eyes. “Not for long. Once I go to this stupid bachelor party and get the goods on Obie, I’m out.”

“I’ve never been the other man,” Steve says and Tony feels the tension run through him. “Not sure I like the idea.”

“Well,” Tony says, because he realizes how much he respects Steve, and doesn’t want to tread on his sense of honor. “Okay, then, we won’t do anything until I’m free? We can see one another no harm, no foul if we’re friends. Right?”

Steve tilts his head as he considers the proposition, upturning his mouth. “I guess, that’s okay?”

“Okay,” Tony says and releases Steve’s hand. He can handle it, he can keep it platonic, if it means he gets a chance. “Does this mean I get a chance? Get a real date when everything’s said and done?”

“I think it does,” Steve says.

Tony slaps his knees as he gets to his feet. “I better be going, let you go and see that little girl of yours.” 

Steve follows him as he collects his art supplies. Steve stuffs his hands in his pockets. The night feels electric as if everything has switch and turned and changed.

“Well, then, I’ll talk to Bucky,” Steve says. “About the prosthesis and all that.”

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” 

Steve throws his hands up. “You’d be surprised actually.”

“I’m not sure what that means,” Tony replies, but nothing can deter him now. “God, I want to kiss you again.” Because Steve is nothing but adorable, and beautiful all wrapped into one. He needs to tap down on his impulses though.

A knock on the door startles both of them and Steve grimaces as a man enters. “We’re closed Schmidt.”

Tony turns to find a pale, angry tall man standing at the entrance to the school.

“I wanted to know if I could bring by a buyer tomorrow,” Schmidt says with a snarl.

“I’m not selling the place,” Steve says. 

Schmidt scowls at him. “I am sure, we will see about that.” He sizes Tony up and down and raises an eyebrow. “I did not know you were entertaining.”

“This is an art school, Schmidt. He’s a student.”

“And yet, you just said that the school is closed,” Schmidt snickers. “Good night, Mister Stark, very nice to meet you.” 

Schmidt leaves and Steve deflates. “Damn it, Tony, I don’t know how he knew who you were, I am so sorry.”

“He knew, because everyone knows. Who was that guy?” Tony says as he shifts his hold on his art supplies.

“My loan officer,” Steve says.

“Who comes by your school in the middle of the night, Steve?” Tony glares at him. “God, Steve, don’t tell me he’s a loan shark.”

“Not exactly.”

“Shit, you took a loan from one of those questionable loan companies, didn’t you?” Tony shakes his head. “Didn’t you?”

Steve throws up his hands. “I didn’t know what else to do, even with the veteran’s loans, I couldn’t get enough to cover the entire mortgage because the place didn’t appraise high enough. In order to cover the whole mortgage I needed to get the second one-.”

“From him,” Tony says. He dumps the art supplies in Steve’s arms. “Listen, I have people that can help you.”

“No,” Steve says.

“Yes, I don’t care this isn’t so you’ll go out with me. Think of it for your little girl,” Tony says. “This is Happy’s number.” He scribbles it down on a scrap of paper from his sketch pad. “You met him, he’s my sometimes driver. He will get you in touch with some of my finance and legal people – that are not Natasha the super secret spy girl.” He shoves it at Steve as he takes the supplies in his arms again. 

“Okay, thanks,” Steve says and stares at the paper. “I appreciate it.”

“Can I see you on Thursday night for dinner?”

Thursday is usually a slow night at the club. “Um.”

“Just a platonic thing between friends. I’ll bring dinner here, we can play superheroes with Emma. Come on, Teach, you know you want to.” Tony smiles and winks at him.

Steve bows his head and then looks up through lidded eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

Tony has to stop himself from leaning in for a quick kiss, but he does and he offers a wave and then exits. As he drives back to the Tower, Tony feels the city beating around him, the air of his hometown thick and heavy, the noise and light shifting – and for the first time he feels as if he’s making his way back.


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Steve enters his flat, both Bucky and Emma are sleeping. Tucked in her bed, Emma slumbers like an angel, curled on her side with her face against her little stuffed Captain America. He smiles and goes to the bathroom to clean up. Once he finishes he tiptoes into the living room, trying not to disturb Bucky who’s snoring on the couch, his one arm hanging off. 

Slipping onto the cushions that Bucky has already laid out with blankets and a pillow, he lies down and tucks his arms under his head. He stares into the darkness and reviews what happened in the last hour. Sure, he’d daydreamed about Tony – a lot. Thought about him, admired him from a far, but the idea of actually having a chance, possibility with him seems so out of the realm of reality. He feels like he’s stepped into a dream.

When he first came home from Afghanistan and sat at Bucky’s side while he went through the trauma of accepting the loss of a limb, Steve felt as if he suddenly woke up in a world foreign to him. The city, the noise, the lights were so different than the backroads and villages he protected in the Afghan mountains. He felt displaced, his whole world turned around as if he’d fallen asleep and woken up decades later. 

They told him it was PTSD; his case had been mild and due to his shock with injury and watching his friend nearly die. Bucky’s had been more severe. But he’d been lucky that both Steve and Natasha had been there to support him, build him up. Bucky had always been there for Steve, he’d never walk away from Bucky – not now, not ever.

And now he has the opportunity to really give back to Bucky. The idea that Tony might design a high tech prosthesis for Bucky only serves to enhance the tingle and warmth Steve feels every time he thinks about Tony. He chides himself, because he shouldn’t get his hopes up. It was one kiss, that’s all. 

He finds sleep eventually that night, but it takes longer than it should. The alarm rings and he’s getting his daughter ready and out the door as quickly as he can with too little sleep and too much adrenaline popping through his veins. Darcy greets him at the kindergarten door and Emma’s already shifting on her crutches.

“Come on, Daddy, Melvin is going to come over.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Daddy, Melvin and Emma are so last week.”

“Oh okay,” Steve says, kisses his daughter and exits before he’s drawn into the world of primary school love. By the time he gets home Bucky’s sitting on the couch looking a little more drawn that usual. “Hey, you want coffee?”

“Hmm?” He looks at Steve, cringes and flaps his hand.

“I’m assuming that means yes?” Steve says and goes to the kitchen. He studies his friend as he pours the coffee he started brewing before he left to drop off Emma. “What’s going on Buck?”

“Got another rejection email,” Bucky says and picks up his hand to show his phone. “Seems the only place I can get a job is fucking Goodwill.”

“I wouldn’t say fucking,” Steve says and brings the mug of black coffee with two sugars to Bucky. He takes a seat on the couch next to Bucky, kicking the blankets to the floor. He should really spend some time cleaning today. 

“No, probably not, it’s a good org,” Bucky says. “But I don’t want a job there. I can’t get a damned job because no one believes a cripple can be in security.”

“Buck, you’re not a cri-.”

“I fucking am, you know it.” Bucky says and stands up, stomping around and shoving through the pile of bed linens. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just thought I had this one. You know.”

“What one was it?”

“Does it matter?” Bucky says and flinches at his own words. “Crap.” He puts the coffee mug on the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen. 

“Listen, Bucky, I have someone who wants to help-.”

“I’m not a charity case.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Steve says and inhales. Sometimes Bucky can be a pain in the ass to get through, but Steve won’t give up on him. “You know Tony Stark?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Well, you know he’s my art student,” Steve says and it is ridiculous how he’s approaching this because, of course, Bucky knows. Bucky only glares at him. “Okay, okay, he wanted to discuss with you about the possibility of designing a high tech prosthesis for you.”

“What? I can’t afford that, I’ll be lucky to afford a fake hook for fuck sake,” Bucky says.

“No, I don’t think he wants to sell it to you, he’s designing it, and he needs someone to-.”

“Be his Guinea pig.” Bucky goes to the fridge and digs around until he pulls out the leftovers from two days ago. 

“It isn’t as bad as it sounds. And Tony’s a genius and an engineer, he knows what he’s doing,” Steve says.

“You seem awfully confident,” Bucky says as he digs a fork out of the drawer and starts eating the pasta cold.

“God, Bucky, what are you a Neanderthal?” Steve crosses the room and picks up the pasta.

“Hey, I’m eating that,” Bucky says as he waves the fork in the air. 

Steve puts the lid back on and places it back in the refrigerator. “I’ll make you some eggs and fruit.”

“I’m not your kid,” Bucky says and throws himself back onto the couch. “I’ll take two, and over easy.”

Steve smiles. “Coming right up, so I can tell Tony, yes?”

Bucky lifts a shoulder but doesn’t look at Steve. “I guess.” 

“Okay then,” Steve says and begins to get the ingredients out. His phone interrupts him and, for some idiotic reason he’s hoping it’s Tony, but it’s not. It’s the club. Answering it, he says, “Rogers?”

“Hey, Steve, we’re going to do some practice today before the show, you game?” Clint asks.

“Hmm, why?”

“Wanted to start working on the new routine for the big party.”

“Why do we need a new routine, the Captain USA one isn’t good enough?” Steve says and Bucky frowns at him. Steve turns his back on his friend. 

“We just want to get a few new moves, and a new dance.”

“Okay, okay, what time?” 

“Can you make it here by four?”

Steve sighs. “No, I have a class, I can’t.”

“How early can you get here?” Clint asks.

“No earlier than five thirty.”

“Okay, we’ll work out the steps and the routine. Then we’ll go over it with you. Can you stay after the show for a little practice?”

Steve closes his eyes and tells himself - _it’s worth it._ “Sure, sure.” It will be a terribly late night, he probably will get home just in time to get Emma up for school. “I’ll see you tonight.” He doesn’t wait for a farewell and, he supposes, that’s rude but the thought of another long night eats at his positive attitude.

“What was that about?”

“The club, their having this big party – which I have to talk to you about,” Steve says. “It’s in a few weeks, I think like the 16th or something. I have to go out of town for the night. Can you stay with Emma?”

Bucky eyes Steve and frowns. “Sure, Nat and I will make it a big thing so she doesn’t miss you. You really want to do this?”

“It’s a shit ton of money, Buck, so yeah, I do.”

“Parties can get-.” Bucky lifts his hand and waves it a little. “A bit questionable.”

“I know, I know, I can handle myself. I’m not a ninety pound weakling anymore.” Steve says and puts the plate of eggs on the counter. “I’m sorry you have to keep coming to my rescue with Emma. It stinks. You didn’t sign up for fatherhood.”

“Don’t even, buddy, I mean seriously, are we going to do this now?” Bucky chows down on the food.

Steve watches him and the mood brightens again, he has a lot of friends, a lot of help. He’s lucky. “So, can I send Tony a note.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Bucky says and continues to eat. Steve scoops up some of the eggs and joins him.

After he showers, Steve heads downstairs to his art school. He has some framing jobs to do. Bucky leaves because he has a line on some day work, that Steve thinks is questionable but he can’t say anything especially with the mood in that arena dark. He only waves to him and then gets back to his measurements. 

Mid-day he decides might be long enough to get in touch with Tony. He’s too anxious to call, so he decides a text message might be in order.

 _Bucky said yes_.

It only takes a few minutes before his phone chirps and Steve reads, _How sweet when’s the date_.

Steve chuckles. _Any time this week – needs good news_

Less time expires and he gets a message back. _Tomorrow noon?_

“Damn it,” Steve says and sinks down on the ratty couch. He’s going to be so exhausted he’s not going to be seeing straight. Bucky needs this, he really does especially since his listed date to get fitted for a new prosthesis with the VA is in five weeks. It’s too long. 

He texts, _Sure thing where?_

 _Stark Tower_ The response is instant and Steve’s glad he’s sitting down because he can’t believe how excited and foolish he feels. 

He only replies, _OK_ and then throws the phone down as if it’s burning his hands. He has it bad, this isn’t good. What if Ty isn’t part of the plot, what if Ty and Tony make up? Tony said they had been boyhood friends; they have a long history together. Tony has only known Steve for a few, maybe five weeks and it isn’t like they hang out all the time. One night a week for an hour or two after class – that’s nothing compared to a life time. He has to settle down his expectations. 

Inhaling and exhaling, Steve decides the best thing to do for a few hours is to close up shop and go work out. That’s exactly what he does at the small very old fashioned gym and boxing ring down at the block. He spends the better part of the morning working out and when he returns feels better for it. 

Once he’s back and cleaned up he finishes three framing jobs before the after school class comes in. Jan’s little Henry is in the class and he spends a good part of the time working with him, and teaching perspectives. Henry seems to love ants and keeps telling him about it. It seems logical since both Jan and his dad, Hank are entomologists. 

Bucky gets home on time to pick up Emma but he stinks of fish and the docks. She doesn’t particularly like it, so when Steve finishes class, he relieves Bucky so he can shower. He has to rush as Bucky dresses so that he can make it across town to the club. 

With a kiss to Emma, he’s out the door. He makes it there but not on time for any extra practice. He’s out of sorts during the entire night and Hill takes him to the side and dresses him down because he keeps missing queues on stage. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says and adds, “I’ll work the floor tonight and any tips I’ve hand over.”

Hill considers his proposal. “Just get your head in the game. Okay?”

He nods and does work the floor. It’s an easy night. Not too many disgusting patrons. A few groups of women that purchase lap dances, and he’s able to work it very nicely. Well enough to get some nice tips on top of the price for the dance. When a table of men ask for him, he accepts and does two more lap dances. The women were a little handsy as are the men tonight. He looks the other way, and allows it. During one of the dances, one of the men puts his hand on his own inner thigh but rubs at it so that he’s practically feeling Steve’s dick up with the back of his hand.

After Steve finishes he pulls away and hurries to the bar. He hangs over it and asks the bartender Logan for a drink. 

“I’m guessing not your regular?” Logan asks because Steve always gets water.

“Yeah, a beer please.” Steve rubs at his temples as Thor walks over and takes a seat next to him.

“Would you like me to address the gentleman for you?”

Steve shakes his head and tips the beer bottle back, gulping at it. When he puts it down on the bar, he says, “No, I’m fine.”

“I witnessed what that man did, Steven. It is against club rules.”

“He also gave a thirty percent tip over the price of the dance.”

Thor regards him, his eyes contemplative, his long hair tied back. His shoulders are broader than Steve’s and his arms are huge. He could be the god of thunder. “I thought better of you, Steven.”

He looks at Thor, really looks at him. “Yeah, so did I.”

Thor nods and places a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “It is no dishonor my friend to ask for help. Whether it is here or otherwise. Jane tells me you work hard and have a little girl to support. Please know you can always call on us.”

“Thanks, Thor, and-.” Steve looks at the man who just felt him up – he’s currently harassing Peitro who happens to be too fast for him to catch. “Can you do something about him?” He takes out the tip from the bucket. “Give it back to him.”

Thor stuffs the money back in the bucket. “I will gladly remove him, but I will not return his money.”

Steve smiles and leaves the bar to get ready for their practice. It is two o’clock in the morning when they start. Clint looks like something the dog dragged in, Loki still looks bright eyed, and Steve can only imagine it’s due to some kind of magic. Peitro hops around the back stage area and Sam has papers in his hands lots of papers.

“Is this the routine?” Steve says and stares at the complicated footwork. “God, we’re strippers not Broadway dancers.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Class act there. This is something Clint and I put together.”

“It seems the good Captain isn’t quite happy with it because he might not be the star,” Loki says and lounges on some pillows. 

“No, you’re reading it wrong,” Clint says and points to the paper. “He’s the star, he’s the one they specifically asked for.”

“Does anyone know who the party is for?” Sam asks.

“Nope,” Clint says as Loki scowls.

“No, not a clue. Hill said it was some big wig. They wanted to keep it hush hush.” Steve takes off the pumps, his feet hurt. “Clint, can’t you do some recon, find out for us?”

“I might have done some special ops work in the service, but that was Nat with the intelligence crap. I was more of the eye guy.”

“What does that even mean?” Sam says and points to the papers. “Let’s go over the routine.”

They spend the better part of the hour discussing and trying out different dance steps. Hill comes in for a while and assists; she’s a good choreographer. Pietro decides to work on the music with Loki and by the time they finish Steve thinks his head is going to explode.

“We’ll meet again for practice on Thursday?” Clint says.

“I’m taking Thursday night off,” Steve states as he climbs to his feet and yanks out his clothes from the cubby. He’s still in his stripper clothes. 

“What? Hot date or are you going to wash your hair?” Pietro says.

Steve stays mum.

“Come on, give us a little,” Sam says and knocks him in the arm.

“Just have to stay home – that’s all,” Steve says.

They eye him and he knows he’s not passing if off as anything other than what it is. A thinly veiled excuse for his date night – that’s not a date night. 

“Okay then, we’ll do it Friday-.”

“Man, that will be a long day,” Sam says but after much discussion, they can’t find another date that works. 

He says his goodbyes and then starts his long route home. It’s late and he’s tired beyond belief when he gets home, the sun is rising and he stumbles up the stairs. He’s not sure he’s lucky or not to see Natasha standing at the head of the staircase waiting for him.

“You’re going to burn yourself out.” She steps down and shifts his arm over her shoulder, guiding him into the flat. 

“Don’t have much choice.”

“I want to get Bucky a job, I got one but because of your little dalliance with Stark, I can’t,” Natasha says.

“Wh-what?” Steve blinks the grit of fatigue out of his eyes. They are whispering and standing in the kitchen. 

She peers around him to spot Bucky still snoozing on the couch and then turns back to Steve. “I can get him a job -.”

“With Shield Bank or with SHIELD the secret government agency.” Her eyes widen and she bites at her lips. “Not your best op, Natasha. I mean how long did you think you could get away with it?”

“Long enough, Rogers,” Natasha says. 

“He’s gonna find out,” Steve says. 

“Exactly, Fury wants him on the analyst team,” Natasha says.

“Fury?”

“SHIELD, the secret government agency. It’s a good job-.”

Steve releases a breath. “You do know he’ll never take it. He doesn’t want a desk job.” 

“I know,” she says and looks pained. “He needs something.”

“Hold off telling him,” Steve says and leans close to Natasha so he can whisper. “If this Fury would agree to place him-.”

“As an agent? Not without a functional arm,” Natasha says.

“Is this agency even on the up and up?”

“Yes,” Natasha says but there’s a hesitation in her voice. “It’s not like the CIA or FBI, it’s more international.”

“Okay, whatever that means,” Steve says and is not at all satisfied. “Bucky’s getting an arm, a new one. From Tony.”

“From Stark,” she says and searches his expression. “How far are you in this? What’s going on?”

“Nothing, he offered, it was the reason he came in here in the first place.”

She scowls. “I should have never given Happy this address.” 

“Well, you did and now you are stuck with the consequences.” Steve measures his response. “Tony wants to test out a prosthetic for Bucky. We’re going to meet him today at noon. Now-.” He shoves away. “I’m going to get a shower before I have to get Emma up and on her way.”

“That’s good, because you stink, Rogers.”

“Hilarious.”

She smiles and he only shakes his head.


	10. Chapter 10

Tony shouldn’t be this nervous; this isn’t his first rodeo. For Pete’s sakes he’s defended multiple doctorates (and still no one calls him Doctor Stark – it still gets his goat – whatever that means). But not only is he premiering his newly designed prosthetic arm design but he’s also going to be seeing Steve out of the context of art class. This is a rare treat indeed.

Of course, Bucky has to appear and tag along – that’s kind of a given, but still Tony can treat him like a chaperone. It’ll keep Tony on his best behavior. He goes through his closet and takes an hour to dress. He would never admit to anyone that he changed three times and put product in his hair until he felt he had the perfect blend of messed and styled. 

He trims his beard and then considers the t-shirt he picked out for the occasion. Captain America! It took JARVIS forever to find one in his size at Macy’s and then a shitload of money to get it delivered today. 

“It’s over the top, isn’t it?” The big shield in the center of his chest. It looks silly. “J-man, what do you think?”

“Sir, it looks stunning.”

“Attitude, why did I program you with attitude? Don’t answer that,” Tony says. He should change. But then again, the shirt demonstrates he’s good with the little one, right. He doesn’t mind that Steve has baggage. “Probably shouldn’t refer to Emma as baggage.”

“I would think not, sir.”

Tony rolls his shoulders and does a few walks back and forth in front of the mirror, trying to show a casual saunter. “I’m not showing off my new Captain America t-shirt. Nope, not doing that. Just wearing it because I happened to be wearing it.”

He doesn’t think he’s even convincing himself. This is pathetic; he’s pathetic. Walking out of the bathroom, he throws himself on the bed and stares at the ceiling. His loving fiancé hasn’t even called him once since he left. What the hell kind of relationship is that? He shouldn’t feel guilty about this at all. He shouldn’t care. Obie and Ty tried to get him killed. Or, at the very least, Obie did. From what Pepper overheard. But maybe they were just talking, people do that, just talk.

The evidence, he needs evidence. But it’s weeks away and he has to handle Ty in the interim. The phone on the night table vibrates and Tony doesn’t move to answer it.

“JARVIS?”

“It is your future father in law, sir.”

He scrubs at his eyes before he reaches for the phone. “Hey Obie, what’s going on?”

“Just checking in with my favorite son in law.”

“To be,” Tony corrects and tries to remember he’s supposed to be happy, he’s supposed to be excited to be getting married.

“Hey, now, what’s this, you missing Ty already?” Obie says.

Tony can’t stop himself, he just can’t. “Well, it’s been days Obie and Ty still hasn’t even called to check in.”

“That’s a two way street, Tony,” Obie says and then there’s a great heave of breath. “Listen, I’ll have him call you later, check in.”

“Yeah, yeah, where is he now?” Tony can’t control his mouth, apparently, because he couldn’t give a shit where Ty is, but there’s something still lurking in the back of his brain. He owes Ty. He hasn’t worked out how that could possibly be, if Ty had been in cahoots with his father and tried to have Tony killed. But still Ty had been there, and he has no evidence that Ty participated. 

“He’s out, you know, out and about. Mover and shaker, you should have come along, Tony.”

“You didn’t invite me,” Tony says.

“Like when do I need to invite the owner of the company?” Obie says. “Anyway, I wanted to check in and tell you that there are people chopping at the bit, they really want the Jericho.”

“It’s off the table, Obie. Aren’t you trying to sell the new smartphones? Or even get the investment for the energy sour-.”

“Tony, Tony, Tony, the Senate just forgave you, on my good graces. You need to feed them something back. If you don’t want to sell them the actual goods, you might as well sell them the patent to the Jericho.”

“Not going to happen.”

There’s silence on the phone, thick and pulsating. He closes his eyes. His family is gone; he needs to convince himself of that. “Obie, we can talk about it when you get home.”

“What the fuck am I doing on this trip then?” Obie says. “This is bullshit, Tony, I can’t keep the company afloat while you tinker around in your workshop on whatever the fuck you want to do. Your brain was burnt during that kidnapping. You need to stop and listen to me.” He pauses and then pours the syrup onto the bitter meal he’s serving Tony. “You know I only have the best intentions, right, Tony.”

He wonders what the best intentions were when he tried to have Tony killed. “Hmm, yeah, yeah, I know.” He has to play it through the end game. He has to hold out. “Sure, Obie, have Ty call me. Tell him I miss him.” Before Obie replies, Tony presses the disconnect. “God damn it.”

“Sir, may I inform you that you have guests that have arrived in the lobby of the building. They are being escorted to your private elevator by Mister Hogan.” 

“Okay, shit, good.” He jumps up from the bed, and does a spin and then drops the phone on the bed. “Shit, what time, what time is it?”

“It is noon, sir.”

“Damn it, I should give them something to eat, shouldn’t I? Food? What kind of food does a Greek god eat?”

“Sir, may I suggest that I order out from the local deli?”

“Yeah, yeah, hmm that’s good.”

“Where should I direct them, sir. The workshop or the penthouse?” 

“Hmm?” Tony stares at the phone like it will answer the puzzling questions of the universe and why the hell is JARVIS asking him about the mysteries of the universe right now. 

“Sir, you could meet them at the penthouse and then show them down to the workshop.”

“Yeah, yeah that sounds good,” Not too forward? Is it too forward? “No, it’s not.”

“Sir?”

“Nothing, just bring them up.” Tony tugs on his t-shirt, and then presses his hands down the front. “Jesus.” He runs his hands through his hair, thinks he’s probably put too much product in it, considers a quick shower, and then decides against it. 

He walks out into the main room of the penthouse just as the lift opens and his very own Adonis walks in with his sidekick – Bucky sourface Barnes. 

He claps his hands and says, “Hey, great you could come over.”

Steve has his hands in his back pockets and licks his lips before he says, “Bucky’s real excited about the possibility.”

“I wouldn’t say excited.”

“Intrigued.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that either,” Bucky says and surveys the room. “So this is how the other half lives.” 

“Be nice, Bucky,” Steve says. 

Bucky crosses the floor of the great room, twists around to get a good look and whistles. “Now this is some living. Feels like a museum. Look at the art on the walls, Stevie.”

“Stevie?” Tony says and smirks.

Steve only waves him off and says. “Yeah that’s nice.” He shifts around as if he finds his shirt too tight – which it is. Way too tight, his muscles are bulging out of it. Tony raises an eyebrow, surely the man knows his own shirt size.

“I’ll take you down to the workshop.” Tony says and directs them to the staircase near the hallway. “It has all the latest and greatest of my toys.”

“Toys?” Steve asks as the walk down the metal steps.

“I’m working on several projects to keep the company solvent as I move her over to more peaceful products.”

“You know, arming and protecting the troops is not warmongering,” Bucky says and Tony does a double take. “What?”

“I don’t know, I just didn’t expect that out of you-.”

“Buck, now, don’t.” Steve says and holds up his hand as they walk through the double doors to Tony’s inner sanctum. 

Both of them drop to silence as they see the laboratory slash workshop. This is the heart, the brain of everything that is Stark Industries. Sure, he has a whole host of scientists, engineers, designers, IT working on research and development, but the very important, critical ideas and products come from him. There have been very few that have originated elsewhere since Tony’s father died. 

“I mean, wow,” Steve says.

Tony glances over to him and he looks dwarfed, almost cowed by the size of the advanced technology of the room. It isn’t just a room, it’s a chamber. Tony’s strived to outfit it with the best and to ensure it doesn’t look like a mad scientist’s lair, but the truth of the matter lies in the fact that this is where Tony creates.

“Wow, this is like the best art studio, I’ve ever seen,” Steve says and Tony screws up his face, puzzled at the comment. Steve smiles and claps a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “No, look, this is where you design things, this is where it all happens, isn’t it?”

“Hmm, yeah?”

“This is like your art studio, everything that you design or create comes from here,” Steve says as he yelps when Dummy glides by. “Geez, what the – why is that thing wearing a dunce cap?”

“He earned it, and don’t feel sorry for him. If he would stop trying to put out fires that don’t exist, he wouldn’t have the cap on, would you, Dummy?”

The robot only shuffles away with a broom clutched in its one claw. 

“Don’t feel sorry for him, he’s a robot, and not a very good one at that.”

“That’s not very nice,” Bucky says and scratches at his stump. 

Tony weighs whether or not he should have hidden Dummy considering it looks like Steve’s friend might be sympathizing with it too much. He rubs the back of his neck and then guides them through the maze of equipment, computer consoles, hanging screens, stools and finally to a work bench where he has the prototype prosthesis.

“Here it is.”

“Wow,” Steve says and swallows. “I just can’t stop saying that. I mean, Tony, this is amazing. It’s like we’ve gone to the future, Buck.”

“Yeah, or those world’s fairs they used to have,” Bucky says and walks around the bench as if he’s sizing up the artificial arm. It’s sitting in a clamp to hold it upright. It doesn’t look like anything more than a metal robotic arm right now.

“I haven’t synthesized a covering to make it look more natural.” Tony says and goes to his keyboard. He taps out a few commands and the fingers of the hand open and close just as Bucky steps up to it.

“Fuck, look at that thing,” Bucky says, and he’s practically drooling over it. 

“You can touch it if you want,” Tony says. Steve glances at Tony over Bucky as he hunches down to study the limb. They share a smile while Bucky runs his fingers over the metal. 

“It’s smooth, really nice to the touch.”

“It’s an alloy, like I said I haven’t fashioned any flesh type of covering yet. I can’t get the plastics to look natural enough-.”

“Oh, I don’t want it covered,” Bucky says. “This is beautiful, this is perfect. How does it work?”

Tony fists his hands a few times and then goes to work, asking JARVIS, “Light it up.”

Around them the array of holographic images emerge and both Steve and Bucky jerk at the sight. “Keep your hands and feet in the car, kids, we’re going to Disneyland.”

He throws his arms up and a 3D model of the prosthesis appears between them. “This is the representation of the arm. One of the main problems with robotic prosthetics today is that there is only one device controlling the entire limb; that connect up to the muscles, sensing the shoulder muscles or what’s left of the arm.” 

“Okay,” Steve says as he circles the display.

“That leaves a whole lot of delicate movements dependent on single sensors to not only detect but also propagate that signal. We’re shaping this too much like the human nervous system,” Tony says and then he flings his arms wide and the holograph display dissembles and opens up. “What I’ve done is give it sensors at the interface of flesh and robot, and then at each joint, here at the elbow, then at the wrist, and then following each knuckle and bend of the finger. This allows for precise and delicate movement because the signal is greater and the noise dispersed. I’ve fueled it by implanting tiny fuel cells, called miniature arc reactors into each and every joint.”

“Damn, this is like a dream,” Bucky says. 

Tony glances over at Steve and finds he isn’t looking at Bucky and he’s not even looking at the display – he’s staring at Tony. His eyes are wide and beautiful and the smile that blossoms on his face holds such beauty that it actually hurts. 

Tony clears his throat, trying to find his bearings. “This is the prototype. So it’s working, but I need someone to kind of beta test it.”

“I volunteer.”

“Yeah, and that’s what got you into this mess,” Steve says and it’s playful. Bucky knocks him in the shoulder and walks through the holographic display to touch the actual arm.

“When can I try it out?”

“I need to do measurements and some adjustments,” Tony says. “We can-.”

“Sir, lunch has arrived.”

“Lunch?” Steve says and looks around. “Who is that?”

“That’s my artificial intelligence and he’s sometimes a little rude.”

“Sir, I can only perform as you have programmed me,” JARVIS says.

“And a little snarky, as you can hear,” Tony says. “Do you want to eat here or in the penthouse.”

Steve shrugs and peers around as if he’s lost; Bucky offers no vote because he’s pawing the artificial arm.

“Penthouse it is,” Tony says and tears them away from the workshop. It takes a little prying but he’s successful. When Tony glimpses Bucky, he realizes the man looks wrecked. Steve keeps a steady hand on Bucky’s shoulder and guides him through the main room of the penthouse to the dining area near the windows to view Manhattan.

At one point, Steve leans down and whispers something in Bucky’s ear. He nods and then Steve says, “Can we use the bathroom?”

“Sure, it’s around the corner. Second door to the right.” They both disappear and immediately Tony thinks he’s blown it. “JARVIS monitor them.”

“Yes, sir.”

The packages with the deli sandwiches have been delivered and placed on the counter in the kitchen. He searches through the bags, lays out the sandwiches, the pickles, the potato chips and the Doritos. “Plate, we should have plates.” This would make it more civilized, less savage. He starts opening up cupboards.

“What are you doing?” Steve says as he enters the kitchen.

“Looking for plates, what?” Tony turns around and feels like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Where’s Bucky?”

“Getting himself together in the bathroom.” Steve walks over to the double cupboard and reveals the plates. He takes three down and hands them to Tony. “He has some trust and PTSD issues. He needed a moment.”

“He’s okay?” Tony says, and then stares at the cupboard. “How did you know where my plates were?”

“He’ll be fine,” Steve says and yawns. He points to the cupboard. “It’s the only double cupboard near the dishwasher, I took a wild guess.”

“Oh,” Tony finds the dishwasher and says, “There you go, how about that?”

“You don’t spend a lot of time in here, do you?” Steve says and starts to dish out the food, giving each of them a sandwich, some of the pickles with a fork he pulled from a drawer (finding it took him two tries), and then picking through the bags of chips. “Do you like Doritos or Lays?”

Tony gazes at Steve and bites back his reply. 

“Well?”

“How about a lay with a Dorito,” Tony says appreciating the shoulder to waist ratio before him.

“What?”

He’s about to say something crude when Bucky walks in and smiles. “Sorry about that.”

Tony makes a save and says, “No problem. Here, eat.”

And they all take seats on the stools around the island. Tony notices how Steve gives Bucky an extra hand once in a while even without conscious thought. It’s sweet and he cannot stop admiring Steve.

“You’re just the all American hero, aren’t you?”

“What?” Steve says as he finishes off his sandwich. “This is great by the way, thanks.”

“I just-“ Tony shakes his head. He’s not sure he should show his hand in front of Bucky. “Nothing.”

After a few minutes of weighty silence, Bucky says, “You know, Steve was pretty much a geek in high school.”

“Bucky,” Steve whines.

“Well, I figure you could bond with Stark here over it. He loved American history, big world war two buff. Knows all the European battles.”

“I had a grandfather in the war,” Steve says. “And it was interesting.”

“But you went into art instead?” Tony asks and is thankful for Bucky’s little drop of knowledge. Anything he can get his hands on about Steve is a delight.

Steve lifts his shoulder and says, “I don’t think either one would have been profitable, so I went with the one I was better at.”

Bucky hits him in the shoulder. “He’s great, but he doesn’t show his art at all, except for in the school.”

“I don’t really have enough time,” Steve says. “I haven’t really produced anything worth it in a while.”

“You always do that,” Bucky says. “You always belittle your stuff. You’ve seen it, haven’t you, Stark?”

“The stuff in the school?” Tony asks. “Yeah, it’s great, I’d like Pepper to see it. She’s a real aficionada.” 

“Pepper is a friend of Tony’s,” Steve says and then they are off discussing who Pepper is and how she fits into the grand scheme of things. By the time they are back in the workshop, Tony’s promised Pepper’s review of Steve’s work and possibly getting her to help him set up a showing. He’s not even sure Pepper works for him anymore. 

In the workshop, Tony spends about an hour going over the measurements. He has Bucky remove his hoodie and t-shirt. Tony asks permission to touch Bucky’s stump because he’s not that idiotic.

“Yeah, sure, just don’t touch this area,” Bucky points to a square inch next to where the bone is. “Hurts like hell if you do.”

“Good to know.” He needs to factor that into the limb attachment. Over the course of the hour, Bucky sits patiently while Tony measures and tests. He attaches leads and they run simulations. At one point he has the leads connected from Bucky to the arm and when Tony asks, “Move your fingers, will you?”

Bucky tries and the fingers on the metal arm open and close. Bucky whoops out a holler and turns around to Steve. “Did you see that?”

“He fell asleep about thirty minutes ago,” Tony says and peers over to catch a glimpse of Steve lying on the only soft area of in the room, a chaise lounge that Tony uses as his thinking chair. 

Bucky only half smiles. “Poor guy, he’s running himself ragged. But with this I can get a decent job, rather than just day work.”

“What’s your field? You could get a job with Stark Industries.”

“Mainly security, but no one wants to hire me.”

“Security like a guard?”

Bucky shakes his head. “A little more advanced than that.”

“Something along the lines of super secret spy girl,” Tony says.

“What’s that?” Bucky looks at him as Tony tweaks another bit of the code. 

“What?”

“Super secret spy girl?” Bucky asks, the expectant look on his face drives it home that Tony’s needs to sidestep the mine field right away.

“Nothing, no, I just know a person that’s, you know, in an organization.”

“Can you get me in touch with her?” 

Tony feels a little strange about the whole thing, kind of surrealistic, but he agrees. “Sure.”

“How do you know her?”

“Oh you know, big business,” Tony says and gets back to the business at hand. He snickers when he realizes the internal joke he’s made.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Tony says and points back to the arm. “Let’s try and see if you can move the whole hand now.”

After another hour, Steve jerks awake and sits up. “What, I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Sure you weren’t champ,” Bucky says, and Tony removes the artificial limb from Bucky. 

“I’ll need to modify the interface for you, but I can do it in a few days. Maybe have it by Saturday to test out.”

“Really?” Steve says and smiles.

“Really,” Tony replies and returns that treasured smile. For only a moment, he feels connected, interwoven in the world Steve occupies – one so removed and different from Tony’s experiences. “Come by on Saturday and I’ll see what I can do.”

Steve bows his head and Tony can tell he’s bursting with joy. “This is great, this is wonderful.”

“Yeah, it kind of is,” Bucky says as Tony disconnects the rest of the wires. 

“We better get going, I have a class to teach in a bit,” Steve says and hesitates. They are steps apart, but Tony fights drifting closer to Steve. He wants to touch him, to celebrate his obvious happiness for Bucky. He holds his place.

Steve mutters and says, “Thanks, well, thanks for everything.” He offers a hand to Tony and they shake while Bucky slaps his back.

“See you on Saturday,” Bucky calls as they walk toward the door. Steve keeps looking behind him, spying Tony with a grin a mile wide on his face. “Oh, and if you could talk to that super secret spy girl.”

“Wait, what?” Steve says and Tony waves his hands in the air as if he’s washing it all away. 

“Nothing, nothing don’t worry about it.”

Steve grits his teeth and grimaces. “I’m worried.”

“Don’t be, I have it handled.”

“Why do I think I’m going to regret believing that?” Steve says as Bucky clutches his shoulder and turns him around.

“It’s between me and Stark. None of your business, Rogers.”

Steve stumbles and then rolls his eyes as he’s turned toward the stairs and they take their exit. Tony falls onto the chaise, feeling the heat of Steve’s body still in the comfort of the chair. He imagines lying on the lounge with Steve, cuddled up after a hard day. How would it be, to just hold someone, not be expected to be available for a quick dry fuck. How would it be to have someone value him, and cradle him, and think he was someone precious, someone worth it? 

He swallows and closes his eyes. “Damn it.”

“Sir, I have Ms. Potts on the line.”

He smiles and it hurts because his AI knows him too well. “Thanks, J man, thanks.”

“As always, at your service, sir.”


	11. Chapter 11

All through the evening Bucky’s bursting, he can barely contain himself. Steve raises an eyebrow and gets ready for his stint at the club. He sincerely wishes he could call off tonight, but he’s already done that for Thursday night so he needs to make the extra cash now. He preps Emma’s dinner as Bucky spins on the single stool they have at the counter they built.

“Can you believe that thing?” Bucky grins. “It’s like I’m gonna be the six million dollar man or something. It’s like a robot or something. I could feel the finger tips even when it wasn’t connected completely, Stevie.”

“It’s good, I’m glad,” Steve says. He sighs, he needs some real sleep. He cannot believe he fell asleep at Tony’s. He’s insanely embarrassed; Tony will probably call off coming over tomorrow night. “Oh yeah, I’m not going into the club tomorrow. If you want, if you want you could, you know, go stay with Nat or something.”

Bucky stops the perpetual motion on the stool. “What, you got a hot date or something.”

Steve scoops out the frozen stew he concocted on the weekend and plops it into the pan. “What? No, no, I just want time with Emma.”

“Seriously, man you can tell me. For Pete’s sake when’s the last time you got laid anyhow.” Bucky taps on the counter. “What was it Emma’s mom, don’t tell me it was Emma’s mom.”

“Stop it, Bucky, she’s right in the next room,” Steve says and lights the burner. “Besides, it wasn’t Emma’s mom.”

“So who is it? Who’s the lucky girl?” Bucky smiles and adds, “Tell me it’s Darcy, come on, she’s always looking at you with those big eyes.”

“God, no, she has a boyfriend. Or something. The teacher’s aide, I think he’s Ian or something. I don’t know, maybe Ivan.”

“Dude, come on, you are holding out.”

Emma happens to walk into the living room with her action figures; Iron Man and Captain America. She has Iron Man swooping around and Captain America sitting on his back like he’s Pegasus or something. “When’s dinner?”

“Soon,” Steve says and stirs the pot as he turns to Bucky. “Can you watch this, I’m going to pack up my things.”

“Are you going again?” Emma says and slams the superheroes on to the floor. She’s using only the braces to walk which is infinitely more difficult to balance without the crutches, but he never forces her to use them when they are in their small apartment.

“Yes, sweetie, you know Daddy works at night.”

She drops down on the couch and crosses her arms over her chest. “You always work.”

“Sweetie, I’m sorry but Daddy has to go to work,” Steve says and leaves the pot to simmer. He knees onto the couch and kisses the crown of her head. “Daddy’s taking tomorrow night off. How does that sound?”

“Can we play superheroes?”

“Sure.”

“Can we eat candy and stay up all night?”

“We’ll see,” Steve says and hops up. “I gotta go.” He checks in with Bucky who raises his hand and gestures for Steve to go ahead. It only takes a few minutes to pack up his things and get back to the living room but what he hears floors him.

“Are you sure, Tony?” Bucky says.

“Yeah, Daddy makes moon eyes at Tony all the time. They gonna kiss real soon,” Emma smiles at him when he enters the room.

“Emma stop telling tales,” Steve says and slings the bag onto his shoulder. 

“Steve?” Bucky says and furrows his brows. “What’s going on?”

He turns around because he doesn’t know what else to do, he feels lost and this isn’t the way he should tell Bucky or anything like that. But it never was a good time, and now his daughter is watching him and Tony’s coming over for dinner tomorrow night.

“I’m – I don’t want to do this right now,” Steve says and rubs at his forehead. “I gotta go.” He leans down, kisses Emma, and grabs the doorknob. “We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah, we will.” And Steve leaves the apartment with Bucky looking betrayed. 

Bucky knows he works in as a stripper, that he gives lap dances to men. He’d thought that Bucky understood, that Bucky knew. Now he’s not sure and it frightens him to death. When he finally settles in a seat on the subway, he takes out his phone and checks the signal. Not bad.

_I think I just came out to Bucky._

A few minutes later, Sam sends a text back to him. _Shit thought he knew_

_Yeah so did I_

_Howd it happen_

_Emma_

_Youre daughter knew and your bf didnt_

Steve closes his eyes and sighs. God, this is so messed up. He opens them and types back. _always meant to tell him_

_Figured he knew when we were getting it on_

_Shut it you creep_

_Sorry man_

_No harm_

He drops the phone back into his bag and sits there in a fugue over the ride to the club. He’d never exactly hid his sexuality from Bucky. He never said he was bi or anything. He just didn’t get it. He’d thought Bucky knew, he was sure Bucky knew. He should call him, say something. Bucky knew, he has to know. They are best friends. Shit, he used to date Sam, how could Bucky not know?

His phone chirps again and he picks it up to see a message from Bucky. “Damn it.”

The woman seated across from him looks up at him from her phone and frowns. He ignores her and opens the phone to see the text.

_cant believe it_

_sorry thought you knew_

_I asked you_

“What?” Steve scowls sometimes he hates texting. He leaves his reply until he gets off the train and presses the phone to connect. When Bucky answers he says, “Hey, sorry.”

“How am I supposed to know? I asked you and you denied it.”

“What?” Steve says. “Denied what? You never asked me if I was gay.”

“Why the hell would I need to ask that, you dated Sam for forever and a day, we all thought you were getting married,” Bucky says. 

“What?” Yeah that does make sense. Everyone knew he dated Sam. What the hell is wrong with him, he needs more sleep. “Geez, Bucky, then why the look when I left?”

“It’s Stark, isn’t it? Emma says you’re making moon eyes at him,” Bucky says and in the background Steve can hear Emma giggles and smacking her lips. 

“That’s platonic, Stark is getting married-.”

“You spend a lot of time talking to him after art class, and don’t deny it. I saw his car leaving a few times right before you came up,” Bucky says. “You’re mooning after him.”

“No, really,” Steve says and he hates lying; he hates himself for lying to his best friend, but right now, it’s for the best. He has to protect the secrets Tony entrusted him with. “Sure, I’m attracted, have you seen him? But I know he’s taken. He just – he doesn’t have anyone to talk to like a regular person, Buck.”

“Like a regular person?”

“Yeah, can you imagine, living your life where everyone was trying to get an angle on you?” Steve says, and he crosses the street to get to the club. He stops as he sees Thor and hangs at the corner of the building. “He likes to talk, that’s all.”

“Are you sure? You’re not offering him something for the arm, are you?”

“What the-.” Steve fumes, he sees red. “Damn it, Bucky, shit. What the hell are you talking about? I’m not a hooker.”

There’s silence and then Bucky murmurs, “I’m sorry, Steve. I just had to-. I-I know you blame yourself, you shouldn’t. At all. I know you run yourself into the ground taking care of things. Especially with me just out of the hospital, and I can barely contribute.”

“Shut it,” Steve says, and he’s shaking but he keeps his voice steady. “It’s okay, Bucky. No, I didn’t offer him anything more than coffee and cookies. That’s it.”

“Okay, good, that’s good,” Bucky pauses and heaves in a great breath before he releases it. “I’m sorry, again.”

“I gotta go, I’m gonna be late as it is,” Steve says. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, break a leg or whatever you do,” Bucky says.

“Sure.” He disconnects and leans against the cold brick of the building. Is that what it’s all come to? That his best friend in the world would think he would consider something like that? Then he realizes how he’s let some of the men and even a few of the women touch him and get hot and heavy with him when he works the floor over the last few weeks in order to make a few extra bucks in tips. How far the field Captain of the 107th has fallen. 

“Pull yourself together, Rogers,” he mutters. He fought bullies twice his size when he was a kid and now the fact he’s lost all of his integrity is going to ruin him. “Isn’t that.” He’s not doing it for fun, he’s doing it to provide for his little girl, for his recovering friend. This isn’t rocket science.

He straightens his shoulders and goes to the club, nods to Thor as he enters, and goes back stage. Everyone is already dressed and ready for the first set. He has to hustle and he does. He takes to the stage but he’s rattled and makes a few mistakes. Nothing major, but he’s off kilter most of the set. When he finally gets off stage, Sam stops him.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I had it wrong,” Steve says. “Bucky’s fine, he knows. I don’t know what I was thinking that he was questioning me or anything.”

“Okay, but otherwise, everything okay?”

“Yeah, nothing a few days off wouldn’t help.”

“Hey, don’t I know it,” Sam says and he lifts his chin to the floor as they stand backstage. “You gonna work it tonight?”

He should go out on the floor and at least do a few lap dances. He’s hurting for money with the new braces he bought for Emma, and he has another payment due to Schmidt soon enough. A few dances would shore up his finances. “Yeah, after I get dressed again.”

Sam knocks him in the shoulder and winks at him. “See you out there, Cap.”

He dons the spangled outfit again and stuffs his feet into the silver pumps. The sheer routine of it, how ordinary it feels to dress up and let people ogle after him weighs on his shoulders. He tries to perk up, and starts the floor by stopping by the bar and getting a shot of whiskey. He’s never been a heavy drinker, but tonight he needs something to quiet his nerves. 

Because of how messy he danced, there seems to be less of a demand for him as he passes through the crowd. Finally a group of young sailors yank him over and he flirts with one of the youngest recruits. The youth – who must be right out of high school- is flustered and harangued by his fellow service men. He’s smaller than Steve and doing a lap dance is ridiculous so he offers a real dance.

The youth smiles and blushes at the same time. Steve guides him to the floor and allows the young man to lay his head on Steve’s shoulders as they move through the song. It’s sweet and lovely and the man never tries anything untoward. After the youth thanks Steve repeatedly and tips him. It isn’t large but it’s nice. It restores a bit of Steve’s attitude about the job. He spends a good amount of time on the sidelines until Hill calls him over and tells him that Vanko is in the crowd and wants a lap dance.

Steve nearly says no.

“He’s offering twice the amount. Says he’ll be on his best behavior,” Hill says. “But no pressure.”

“Yeah, yeah, no pressure,” Steve mimics, because Hill knows that Steve needs the money. “Best behavior?”

“Yes,” Hill says. “I’ll have Thor watch, if you need it.”

Steve readies his game face. “Nope, I can handle myself.” It’s a little like going to war; each moment in a battle is chaotic but also well-orchestrated. He knows what to do and how to do. He just has to keep his head in the game. He nods to Hill and then follows her directions to where Vanko sits with the regular Justin Hammer.

“Oh my little bird, he decide to come by,” Vanko says with a clap of his hands.

Steve smiles. He places the towel on Vanko’s lap. “Always a pleasure to serve you, sir.” Steve has to carefully control his voice to ensure no sarcasm drips into it. 

Vanko pats his lap. “Come, sweet bird.”

Steve inhales and then climbs on to begin the dance. The music allows him to drift away at the same time as he concentrates on his moves as well as where Vanko’s hands are. He pushes up against the big oaf, making sure to do a good job. Watching, Steve sees the man’s eyes are dilated, he’s panting in slow breathes and even through the towel he knows he can feel his hardening erection. The music ends and Steve thanks him and begins to disengage.

Vanko grasps his wrist, not hard, but insistent. “Another, sweet bird. I pay twice more.”

Steve considers it, and then nods. He starts again. But this time Vanko lets his arms encircle Steve. He’s not pressing but Steve is inches away from the hands as he moves on Vanko’s lap. A big paw ends up on Steve’s back as the other is on Vanko’s thigh. Steve tries to continue, but he’s getting off rhythm to the music as Vanko’s hand drifts up and under Steve’s ass.

“Sir,” Steve says.

“Sweet bird,” Vanko says and his words are rasped, hoarse. 

“Sir, remove your hand,” Steve says and hopes to hell Thor is close by. 

Instead of removing his hand, Vanko’s thumb curls up and into the leg of Steve’s bodysuit. He tugs away and tries to leave, but Vanko jerks him closer. 

“I pay, sweet bird, I pay,” Vanko says and he seems delirious with his actions. 

“Sir, could you tell your friend to stop,” Steve says and bends away from Vanko as Hammer waves at him as he talks on the phone. Without any other way to stop it, Steve reaches down and seizes Vanko’s wrist. Immediately, Vanko snaps to attention and twists. He clasps Steve to his chest with his other hand and Steve has no other choice. He knees the pervert in the crotch and then kicks free as he contorts his wrist. Vanko screams out as Hammer jumps up to his feet calling for help.

Hill, Thor, and Logan converge on them. Steve stumbles free of Vanko’s clutches.

“He’s assaulting my friend,” Hammer says.

“Maria, he was breaking the rules,” Steve says.

“I pay, I not break rules.” Vanko rubs at his wrist. “I sue, broken wrist.”

“Thor take a look,” Hill says and then to Steve. “Go to my office, I’ll handle this.”

Logan escorts Steve away, putting a hand on his shoulder when he tries to protest and then he directs Steve to the offices beyond the backstage. Over his shoulder, Steve can see Hill in a heated discussion with Hammer. Logan deposits Steve in Hill’s office and before he closes the door, he says, “I saw the whole thing, I’ll put a good word in for you.”

“Thanks,” Steve says and the door is closed. He stands in the center of the office. It’s not luxurious; it’s more functional than anything else. Hill has a few paintings on the walls, reproductions of Neimen’s works. The desk is without drawers; it’s one of those steel and chrome tables with a chair. The surface is bare except for the silver laptop that’s closed on it and a chrome desk lamp. 

The door opens and Hill enters. She shuts the door before she begins. “I was able to quiet everything down.” She regards him and then points to the chair opposite the desk. “Sit, Steve.”

Steve settles in the chair; the last time she brought him in her office, she’d discussed letting him go because he wasn’t keeping up with the dance routines. He’s not nervous but, at the same time, he can’t lose this job.

“Maria, I can explain.”

“I know, Steve, he was breaking the rules,” Hill says. “Logan told me, I get it.”

“So, what-.”

“I don’t think you’re happy doing this, Steve.” One thing he likes about Hill is that she’s always straightforward. 

“It isn’t the easiest thing to do,” Steve says and looks down at himself. This is not what he intended to do for the rest of his life. Some people might enjoy it, he knows for a fact Loki, Pietro, and even Clint love the crowds, the music. It sings to them. But not to him.

“No, it’s not, but you’re here and I expect you to give it your all.”

“I don’t see how Vanko sticking his thumb up my ass and me not breaking his arm, isn’t giving it my all,” Steve says.

“Well, your dance was sloppy tonight. Has been the last couple of times,” Hill says. “I let it slide because you were becoming so popular on the floor the last few weeks.”

Steve bites his tongue. He’s not going to admit he’s allowed touches that even make him cringe. “I’m trying, doesn’t that count for something?”

“Hammer was pissed, Vanko is a big part of why Hammer comes here. Why he rents a table. He also has clients he brings in. We have a big party, that big one coming up because of him.”

“It’s Justin Hammer’s party?” Steve says and his heart sinks.

“I didn’t say that, Steve, I said we have a big party _because_ of Hammer.”

“Oh, oh,” Steve says and he quiets his worries. 

“And I’m not sure you should participate,” Hill adds.

He grabs the arms of the chair to stop himself from launching out of it. “”What? You said they specifically asked for me. You said they wanted me?”

“I can convince them otherwise, Steve.” She looks hard as nails, but her expression softens as she says, “Steve, this isn’t your thing. You get freaked out if someone touches even above the waist. This really isn’t the job for you.”

“I do a good job, I almost never ask for time off, even when my daughter’s sick,” Steve replies. He can’t believe he’s back to this again, that she considering leaving him behind for the party. 

“I know, you’re dedicated and a good worker when you put your mind to it. But Steve, this isn’t for you,” Hill says and her tone is not unkind.

“I need this job,” Steve says and feels like he’s not only stating the obvious but that he’s bordering on begging. “What else am I supposed to do? Ultimate fighting like Sam suggested? I can’t come home to my daughter beaten, that doesn’t work.”

“You took this job as a part time thing, and now you’re full time and you hate it. I can tell,” Hill says.

“I need this job, I do. I can’t afford to lose my income,” Steve says and thinks about how he will definitely lose the art school, his home if he loses this job. “Come on Maria, everyone has off nights.”

She exhales and glares at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Okay, but I’m not sure about the party-.”

“I’ll do whatever you need me to do for the party. I will definitely practice, and I will show up one hundred and ten percent.”

“I don’t need a hundred and ten, I just need a hundred, Steve. You’re getting by on way less than that tonight, most nights.”

He nods and says, “I’ll do more than my best.” He hates to do this, but he has no choice. “I can come in tomorrow. I can cancel my plans.”

She shakes her head. “No, don’t. You go, actually go now. I think you need some time to regroup.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it, Maria.”

“Steve,” she says as he rises to go. “Get your head in the game over the next week or so. I can always pull you before the party.”

“I will, Maria, and sorry about Vanko.” He starts toward the door.

She smirks. “Never be sorry for that asshole, Steve.” She smiles at him as he leaves the office.

He heads toward his cubby and goes through the motions of disrobing. He stuffs the costume in the hamper to be washed and pulls off the pumps. As he dresses, Clint appears sweaty and ready for the next set.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Hill, she told me to-.”

“Well, fuck her, I’m leaving, too, then,” Clint says.

Steve puts his hands out to ward off Clint’s indignation. “No, Clint, she told me to go home. I’ll be back on Friday. Don’t worry. I just need some time off.”

“Okay, you sure, right?” Clint asks.

“Yeah, I’ll go over the routine too, while I’m off. Make sure I memorize it.” 

Clint slaps him on the back as Steve shoulders on his hoodie. “Good, see you on Friday. Get some sleep, too, you look like the walking dead.”

“Thanks, it’s always a pleasure, Clint.”

He smiles and rushes off to his cubby as the rest of the dancers come in to get prepared for the second set. He says his goodbyes as Clint explains to the rest of them. Sam nods to him and Steve finds his way to the door and out onto the street. When he gets to the subway, he pulls out his phone to see a series of texts from Tony.

Smiling he scrolls through them.

_Am I allowed to update you on the arm?_

_Hope that’s ok_

_you’re not answering_

_why not?_

_I got the calibration to work_

_Finally_

_There was never any ? because GENIUS is my middle name_

_Not really….but really_

_Is that bragging? Are you turned off by bragging?_

It’s nearly midnight, but Steve texts. _No it isn’t if it is true_

He rides the subway car half a sleep but then his phone chirps as he exits the car and he follows the thin crowd to the stairs. Pulling it out, he smiles as he gets a triple set of <3<3<3.

It probably doesn’t qualify as platonic, but he clutches the phone as if it is his lifeline and heads back to this flat. When he gets there it is nearly one in the morning and Bucky sits in the living room, flicking through the Netflix offerings and only illuminated by the television light.

“Hey, what are you doing up?” Steve says as he closes the door.

“Too hyped up over the arm,” Bucky says and grins. Steve can only be thankful to Tony; he hasn’t seen Bucky this happy in a long time. “Hey, what are you doing home so early?”

“I nearly got fired,” Steve says and drops his bag by the door to join Bucky on the couch. 

“Crap, why?”

“Client tried to stick his thumb up my ass, and I might have twisted his wrist a little,” Steve says.

“Christ, I thought there were rules-.”

Steve lays his head on the back cushions of the couch. “There are, but I flubbed up the dance, too. I wasn’t in the right mindset.”

Bucky looks at him and then reaches over to turn on the lamp near the side of the couch. He turns off the television afterward. “That’s probably my fault. I’m sorry, Steve, that was really out of line.”

Steve throws his hands up and then deflates. “You weren’t wrong, Bucky.”

“What?”

He straightens and says, “Hold on, not about Tony. That’s purely platonic and the only reason he came into the art school was because of you in the first place.” He doesn’t broach the subject of super secret spy girl. “But I’ve been letting things, get a little questionable on the floor. When I work the floor, so I can make the mortgage.”

“Damn it, Steve, why didn’t you tell me. I can pick up more day work.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Steve says. “You help me around here with Emma, you’re still healing.”

“I’m good, I can do some day work, I can even, you know, go work for the Good Will or some shit,” Bucky says.

“Just go and see Happy Hogan about a job at Stark Industries, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Bucky says. “So tonight that wasn’t about you letting clients go too far?” 

“Just the opposite actually, I stopped him because I decided not to do that anymore.” Steve sits forward, arms stretched out in front of him, hands clasped together. “I over reacted, I don’t know why I never said anything, was never straightforward with you about my sexuality.”

“Damn it, Steve, you didn’t have to be. I kind of guessed. I thought you were being quiet about Sam, when you were dating him because you wanted to find out if it would work out first before you brought Emma into the mix.” 

“Yeah, maybe, I don’t know.” 

“And now?”

“Now, I don’t know,” Steve says. That, at least, is honest. 

Bucky grasps his shoulder and says, “Get some sleep, I’m gonna take the floor tonight.”

Steve doesn’t argue, and only sinks down on the couch. His phone chirps again and he tugs it out of his back pocket. 

_Jarvis tells me to go to sleep_

_Wanted to say hearts before I went_

Steve texts back three hearts of his own. As he drifts off to sleep he confesses in a murmur, “Not platonic at all.”


	12. Chapter 12

It’s Thursday. Finally. Tony thinks the only reason he agreed to go to bed when JARVIS informed him it was after one in the morning is because Thursday would get here faster. Technically, it already was Thursday and, technically, he knew that going to sleep had nothing to do with the passage of time which is a completely human construct. But if it is a human construct, then that would mean sleeping would elicit the intended outcome – that is, that time would appear to go by faster.

Sometimes he thinks so hard his head hurts. He rolls out of bed around ten in the morning. He hadn’t fallen asleep immediately. He spent some time going over the calculations of the arm and how to adjust it so that it would mimic fine motor action better. He knows he nearly has it down, but he wants it to be perfect. Not only to impress Steve, but because this is a major new arm (pun intended) of his company. Medical devices, advancing them, and making them affordable has become a central tenet of how he wants to live. 

After his shower, he checks in with Pepper by calling her. 

“Hey Sweet Pepper how you doing?”

“Good, good, how is everything, Tony. Are you safe?”

Tony walks to the kitchen as he calls up the news on the screen hanging by the island. The news flashes over it. “Safe as a pea in a pod.”

“Not sure what that means.”

“Means, no reason to worry; the gargoyles are out of town,” Tony says. “I wanted to know if you are still working for me.”

“Right now?” Pepper says. “No, I’m not. I quit.”

“You’re coming back, right? Because I cannot function if you’re not going to come back.” He hadn’t realized how true this statement is until he said it. “Please Pepperpot.”

“Tony, yes, if it means-.”

“Means the world, I got big ideas and I need someone to pull them off,” Tony says and cannot believe how everything – all the puzzle pieces have been found, and he can see it all coming together. Finally. 

“Tony, just tell me you’ll be safe, and I will have no problem coming back.”

“Just a few more weeks and all will be as it should be with the Force, my dear Jedi Master.” 

Pepper giggles and says, “Okay, Tony, I have to get back to work.”

“Work, no more work, Pepper take a few weeks off on me,” Tony says and smiles.

“I’m afraid my boss won’t like that, and since you are not currently my boss, I cannot take orders from you,” Pepper says. “But I will give notice, soon.”

“Good, and then a vacation.”

“On your dime, sure anytime.” They say their goodbyes and then Tony brews some coffee all the while only half listening to the news. He pours the coffee and turns to the screen, watching the listings of escalating violence in both the Middle East and the Korean peninsula which is a new issue. He frowns. 

He looks at the time and it’s only a little after eleven. When would it be good to go over to Steve’s? Is dinner at four too early? Probably. He should have asked Pepper. While he ruminates his phone vibrates, and he looks to see that Ty has finally deemed him worthy enough to call. He cannot wait to get rid of this asshat.

He answers, “Hey, Ty.” He thinks his voice sounds natural. Apparently, it does not.

“Hey, Tones, you missing me already. You sound off, kind of weird.”

“Nah, just watching the news.”

“My baby ain’t needing to look at the news, Tones. You know that, leave it to Pops. He’ll deal with the biz you know that,” Ty says. “I been missing you big time.”

“Oh yeah, I was wondering what was up,” Tony says, and cringes because he cannot stop himself. “You know, since you never even called to tell me you made it there safely.”

“Fuck, you sound like a nagging wife already.” Ty groans.

It takes all of his self-control not to lash out, but Tony says, “No, I was just worried. You know, not nagging, worried. You know how much I depend on you, Ty.” He thinks he might gag, but he has to remember the endgame here.

“Tones, you are pathetic, but you’re my pathetic,” Ty says. “Hey, you know we’re in Asia right now.”

“Yeah, Japan, I know,” Tony says. They’re supposedly working on some new deal with the government for Stark Industries-Asia. He should be there, but, of course, Obie thought it better that he not attend. 

“Japan? Yeah, yeah, that’s right.”

The sound of his voice is so off that Tony furrows his brow. “You’re not in Japan?”

“Well, fuck if I know. You know me I never learned geography. I could be on the moon for all I know.” Ty clears his throat. There’s a brief shuffling and Tony can tell he must have his hand over the receiver part of the phone before he releases it and continues, “Hey, I gotta go. But I wanted to check in, tell you I’m surviving over here. You know how traveling is. A curse.”

“I’m sure,” Tony says. “See you later, Ty.”

“Hey, no love for the intended?”

“Love you, Ty.”

“Can’t wait to wet the beef, my little slut,” Ty says and snickers.

Tony cannot see how he ever thought that Ty might be the right one for him. He laughs it off and disconnects. The coffee is cold and he decides not to make another one. Instead, he follows his instincts and conceals himself in his workshop for the next few hours. He compares the 3 dimensional mapping of Barnes’ stump with his simulations, running different parameters as he flips through the modifications. By the time it’s two in the afternoon, his eyes feel bleary and he’s blinking away the tears. 

“Sir, perhaps some food would be in order?”

“Food, what’s that?” He scans his bench and spots the bag of jellybeans and a bag of Doritos. He laughs and grabs for the bag. He eats it and says, “See, all fed.”

“Perhaps you may think about food for tonight?”

“Perhaps I should, excellent idea, JARVIS.” 

He goes back to the penthouse and spends too much time deciding on the right outfit. He ends up with a dark, almost midnight blue shirt, with a white silk tie and jeans with white tennis shoes. He throws on a jacket and slips on his sunglasses. “J-man I’m going to the market.”

“Of course, would you like me to alert, Mister Hogan?”

“Nope, going to drive myself.”

“Are you sure, sir, the last time you went to the market on your own you ended up in New Delhi.”

“Very funny, JARVIS, I can do this,” Tony says and heads to the elevator. “For your peace of mind, though, please download the route to the nearest market onto my phone.”

“Done, sir,” JARVIS replies as Tony leaves the elevator on his secure floor of the parking garage. He picks out one of the Audis. The directions JARVIS provided are excellent and he ends up at the market in little over thirty minutes and there’s not a whisper or a threat of his journey resulting in hanging out in India.

The market is an entire other adventure, though, since he’s not a regular and he doesn’t often cook. He leaves the fresh air portion of the market to wander toward the prepared meals. It occurs to him that he knows that Emma is allergic to peanut butter, so he stays away from the Asian dishes for fear of peanut oil. He’s not sure what else might be on her danger list.

“Christ, how does he do this every day?” Tony takes out his phone and sends a text message to Steve regarding safe foods for Emma.

It takes a good ten minutes before there’s an answer: _No nuts, no berries, no pork_

“That’s an odd list,” Tony says and shrugs. He searches around and finds a wonderful outlet from one of his favorite restaurants. He scans the menu and cannot decide what a five year old might want to eat. One of the women at the high counter in front of him leans down and asks, “Can I help?”

“Don’t know what a five year old might eat,” Tony says. The counter offers some of their most famous dishes from exotic Greek to the mainstream. But he waves her off and decides because Emma’s allergic he better go with something he knows.

Off to the main section of the market, he picks up a basket and begins to fill it with different vegetables, rolls, a few different cheeses. He frowns, he doesn’t know if Emma’s lactose intolerant, but he throws it in anyway. He ends up at the meat counter and buys some steaks because you can’t go wrong with beef. Lastly, he finds a counter selling specialty marinades, with the help of the vendor, he picks the least offensive as far as allergens go. 

Once done he walks toward the exit, but sees the last vendor – a florist. Smiling, he picks up a boutique. He’s bringing it for the little girl, not for Steve. It’s all platonic. 

With everything tucked into his backseat, he checks the time. It is a little past four in the afternoon. When can he go? Finding his phone, he sends a message.

_Ready or not here I come_

_Still in class_ The message comes within seconds of receipt. 

He stares at it for all of thirty seconds. _Still coming_

_Not advised_

_Food spoiling have to come_ He leaves it at that even when he hears his phone vibrate again. He turns down the street to head toward Brooklyn. With rush hour traffic in full swing it will take him over an hour to get out of the thick of Manhattan anyway. He pushes forward and sets the radio to his favorite playlist. He hasn’t felt this light in years.

It takes him over an hour, actually he unloads the car at five thirty and he’s pissed because – hello gelato and no damned freezer in the car. Well, not this one anyway. Parking the car in the alley behind the art school, he uses the back stairs to get to Steve’s flat. His arms might break but he manages to grapple up the stairs and he kicks the door to sound the alarm that he’s arrived.

Emma answers the door. She frowns at him, looks him up and down and then says, “You know it isn’t nice to kick on people’s door.” She closes the door on his face.

Inside he hears, “Emma, that’s not nice.”

“Miss Darcy says manner are impor-ant.”

“Right, right,” Steve says and then he opens the door for Tony. “Sorry, hey, oh, let me help you.” He reaches and grabs a considerable number of the bags that Tony’s hauled up the stairs. “Wow, what’d you do buy out the market.”

“There’s gelato, I didn’t know if Emma could drink milk or not. Your instructions kind of suck.”

Emma hops on the couch as Steve brings all of the bags and puts them on the makeshift counter. “Hey, Emma.” He offers her the small boutique of flowers. She giggles and hugs them to herself.

“Hi, Iron Man,” Emma says and smiles her toothless grin. 

“Wow, you lost another tooth?”

“Two in a week, she’s gonna put the tooth fairy in the poor house,” Steve says and starts to unpack the bags. “Tony, you bought steaks?”

“What? Is that wrong?” Tony whips around to look at Steve. “You said she was allergic to pork.”

“She’s not allergic, she doesn’t like pork. But she loves steak.” 

“Nom, nom, nom,” Emma says and perches on the arm of the couch. 

“Are you supposed to be doing that?” Tony says but turns his attention to Steve. “What’s wrong with steak? Don’t tell me you don’t like steak?”

“I like it, it’s just expensive.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony says. “Only the best for-.”

“Your platonic friend,” Steve supplies and rolls his eyes. He leaves the steaks out on the counter and begins to assess the different produce, the marinade. 

“I made sure it would be okay for Emma,” Tony says and points to it. “One of the vendors was very knowledgeable.” 

“Great, great, it looks fine,” Steve says and takes out a bowl to put the steaks in to marinate for a while. “Honey, why don’t you give me the flowers and I’ll put them in some water.”

“And then in my room?” Emma says and scrambles over to him, her braces scraping at the floor.

“You really can get around,” Tony says and hisses at himself for being so freak ass rude. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve says. “We have the place pretty well rigged for Emma. There’s hand grips all over and jumping on the couch is something she mastered a while back.”

He cuts the stems of the flowers and puts them in an old mason jar. “I’ll be right back.” Steve leaves to place the flowers in Emma’s room. 

While Steve is out of the room, Emma grins at Tony. “Are you gonna play with me?”

“Maybe a little bit?” Tony says. “I’m a good mechanic. Do you need anything fixed?”

“Daddy needs his computer fixed. He brokened it.” Emma points to a pathetically old lap top sitting in the corner of the room. It even looks dusty. 

“I didn’t break it,” Steve says and goes back to the kitchen. “I think I downloaded something with a virus or malware or something. I can get it to open my files anymore.” 

“I could take a look at it,” Tony says and Steve shakes his head. 

“You don’t have to.”

“I can’t play Minecraft ‘cause Daddy brokened it.”

“Broke it,” Steve says and searches around and finds a knife to start cutting vegetables. “And I did not.”

Tony laughs and follows Steve into the kitchen. In only a few minutes Steve has Tony cutting and dicing some of the produce as he starts up the oven. He’s going to bake some rolls. Starting the batter, he asks Tony to continue to chop. While they work, Emma sits in the living room and colors pictures on a small easel. It feels so foreign, yet so homey, domestic that Tony cannot help but sigh.

“Hmm?” Steve says with a raised eyebrow.

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t know, I never did something like this before. Usually it’s wine and dine for me.”

“You’ve never made dinner with a friend before?”

Tony presses his lips together and wonders how much he should reveal. Showing how different they are could be disastrous for his future plans. The fact he admits to himself that he has future plans is a huge step forward. “Maybe, not?”

“Maybe not?” Steve drops the biscuits on the cookie sheet as the oven warms. 

“Drop biscuits, Daddy?”

“Yep, sweetie,” Steve says and she clunks her way into the kitchen. Steve retrieves a small step stool and has her wash her hands before she works on dropping the batter onto the baking sheet.

With three of them in the kitchen, it’s a tight fit and Tony’s crushed into the corner. 

“Do you want something to drink? I have win-.”

“No can do,” Tony says, blows out his cheeks. “I should have told you, I’m a recovering alcoholic. I can’t drink.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “That’s fine, we have juice, would that work?” 

“Juice is good.”

“You can have apple,” Emma offers. “Daddy drinks the disgusting orange burst.”

Steve screws up his face and mouths over her head that he throws it down the sink. Tony chuckles and says, “Whatever you suggest, sweetpea.”

“Great,” Emma says and her smile is electric. He cannot believe he could fall for a little girl, and considers whether or not it has to do with her connection with Steve. 

Once they finish the preparations, they all relax in the living room. Tony and Steve on the couch while Emma digs through the little toy box near the corner of the room where the TV sits. 

“So, your day, was it good?” Tony asks and sips from the straw of the juice box.

Steve tries to quell the smile but he can’t and he giggles. “Sorry, watching you drink from a juice box. God, I should get a picture and put it on twitter or something.”

“Nope, you should probably sell it. You could get a good price for it.”

Steve smiles, but then it fades and he says, “You know I’d never do that.”

The levity fades slightly and he gazes at Steve. “Yeah, for some reason, I do.”

It sets the tone for the rest of the night. It is easy and free, but also there’s a gentleness about it, a subtly that Tony cherishes and can only term as precious. They eat on the roof of the small building – which is really an old brownstone. Steve has an old table and chairs set up, and Emma insisted. So they truck everything upstairs. By the end of dinner, she’s listing to the side and nearly falling asleep at the table.

“Sorry, she’s had a long day,” Steve says and gathers her up after dinner. “I’ll go get her ready for bed and be right back.”

Tony nods and Steve disappears down the stairwell. He waits for a moment and then clears up the table, stacking the dishes, placing the leftovers on one plate. With a few trips he manages to bring everything back to the apartment and load some of the plates in the dishwasher when Steve re-appears. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that, you brought dinner,” Steve says and helps him finish the clean up.

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty crappy at this, you’ll probably have to redo all of it again.” Tony grabs the towel from the hook near the sink and dries his hands.

“She’s down for the count,” Steve says. “End of the week is pretty hard on her.”

“I can understand, that’s one thing we have in common,” Tony says. “Heart problems.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know,” Steve says.

“Yeah, it’s not something I publicized after the whole Afghan fiasco. I have long term damage to my heart.”

“Is it bad?” Steve says and the look of concern and genuine worry shouldn’t make him feel as good as it does.

“Not bad, I’m not dying, but it does increase my fatigue, and my endurance, that kind of thing.”

Steve only acknowledges it with a swift nod and a few blinks too many. Tony weighs whether or not he should call him on it, Steve interrupts his thoughts and asks, “Coffee?”

“Sure, why not, we can continue the after art class tradition.”

Steve gets the pot brewing and then they both settle on the couch again. “This was nice, and thank you for the dinner. The steaks were fantastic.”

“Well, you know, just two dudes hanging out, eating dinner,” Tony says with smile. When Steve returns it, Tony can only appreciate how much he wants to see it more often, how much he longs to wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night with that next to him. He shoves it aside, because they are nowhere near that in their relationship. Platonic or not.

“Yeah, I have to admit, Bucky was a little worried about things,” Steve says.

Tony jerks and says, “Why? I mean he- why?”

Steve shrugs and stands up, hops over Tony’s legs as he lounges and goes to the kitchen to pour them coffee. “I don’t know. Bucky is always worried about my virtue. He thinks I get myself in trouble all the time.”

“All the time?” Tony says. “I never saw you as a player.”

Steve tilts his head. “Not a player. Bucky’s not wrong. I’ve picked fights when I was a 90 pound weakling and usually ended up losing. He was always there to help me out.”

“He’s a good friend.”

“The best,” Steve says and goes to the fridge. “I have creamer up here. Hazelnut?”

“Yeah sure, why not. Live a little, right?” Tony says. “Where is Bucky tonight? I thought he lived with you?”

“Yeah he does, he’s at Nat’s. Who I still can’t believe is the same super secret spy girl you were talking about,” Steve says.

“We should probably call her super secret spy woman. I have a feeling she wouldn’t take too kindly to girl,” Tony says as he accepts the coffee mug. “Thank you.”

“I’d offer you some cookies, but Emma had the last on in her lunch box today,” Steve says.

“No worries,” Tony says. “But you have to tell me why Bucky thought I was going to steal your virtue.”

A shadow passes over Steve’s expression and he fights to hide it. There’s something oppressive darkening his demeanor, but he shakes it off. “No, nothing. Buck just worries too much. He’s been through a lot, he’s always worried about me. At one point during our deployment he was captured. It took a lot to rescue him. He’d been tortured.”

“And he still went back?”

“Yeah, Buck tries to make everyone think things roll off his back, but they don’t,” Steve says. “I owe him a lot and he worries, he holds onto what he has now, because of his PTSD.”

The first few months of Tony’s return home from Afghanistan flash through his brain. The images, the pain, the fear, and holding onto Ty – how Ty was there and how Tony clung to him. He clears his throat and says, “I know how that feels.”

“Would it be too much to ask, if we could stop talking about Bucky?” Steve says.

“Sure, I-.” Tony loses the thread because what he wants to ask – is everything. All of it. And it flows out of him like a mudslide, messy and dirty and dangerous. “Artist, soldier, dad, and Adonis – anything else I need to know?”

Steve guffaws and slaps his legs as he tries not to upset his coffee. “Tony, I’m not-.”

“God, you are and you know it,” he says as he sips from his mug.

“No, I was always the skinny kid, too sick to go to school. Too shy to ask a girl out. Damn, Emma’s mom was my first.”

“And you got her pregnant?” Tony coughs on the coffee. Jumping up, Steve grabs a towel from the kitchen and offers it to Tony. “Thanks, but really you got her pregnant?”

“Well, not the first time. We were careful, but not that last time, when she sent me off before my deployment.”

“That’s kind of romantic. Old fashioned, but romantic,” Tony says and he should be jealous but all he feels is a kindness toward a woman he doesn’t even know. “You said she’s gone now?”

“Yeah, she died a few years back. When Emma was born, I didn’t even know about her until I came back. Kassie told me and I took custody so she could pursue her dreams in Hollywood. It was fair and I never blamed her for it,” Steve says with a sigh. “Kassie has family down near Atlanta. We try and visit as often as possible, but it’s not cheap flying down and taking the bus really stinks. Her Granna is a character.”

“You’re a good father, it’s easy to see,” Tony says and it’s hard to consider if he could ever be a father, let alone a good one. “I didn’t have a great role model, myself.”

Steve rests back on the couch and says, “My dad died when I was still in diapers. He was in the service, too. Died in the line of duty. My mom – she was great. She’s gone now, too. I think about what she would do and kind of try and channel it.”

“Well, it seems to be working, Emma’s a happy little girl.”

“Most of the time,” Steve says. “But what about you, after all this is said and done what do you want to do?”

“Well, like I said about the compa-.”

“I didn’t ask about the company, Tony, you already told me about the company. I asked about you. It’s gonna be hard adjusting to losing people in your life that you’ve depended on, cared about.” 

“I’m not sure it’s going to be all that hard, considering these are the same people who may very well be the reason I was abducted and nearly killed.” Tony tries to pull off cavalier, but it’s not working. “Yeah, yeah, okay so it will be hard. But Pepper will be back in my life, and that will mean a world of difference. She and Rhodes are my best friends. Plus, hopefully there will be other open doors-.”

Steve smiles and it is all Tony can do not to leap across the small space between them and plaster his mouth on those full lips. The awkwardness of the moment enhances Steve’s unease so Tony rushes forward.

“Of course, there’s Rhodey, my friend. He’s been around forever, too.”

“Rhodey?”

“Colonel James Rhodes, Air Force.”

“Wow, did you meet him through the military contacts?” Steve says.

“No, no, we go way back,” Tony replies. “We met in college.”

“Didn’t you go to MIT? Get some degrees?”

“Oh, you did your homework even without the ratty old computer you have over there,” Tony says and gestures to the defunct computer.

“A little,” Steve says. “I wanted to see what I was getting myself into. You know, I’m nothing special, I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.”

“How can you say that?” Tony shakes his head. “Look at you, first you’re an Adonis of epic proportions, you’re a single dad, and you’re so dedicated you hold down two jobs. I mean I don’t even understand how that’s done.”

Steve laughs. “Well, don’t be impressed, I almost got fired from my night job yesterday.”

“Really? What punch one too many customers?”

“Something close to that, actually.”

Tony grasps his knee. “Well, I’m sure it was well deserved.” 

“I probably should have been fired,” Steve says and places the empty cup on the table. “But luckily I begged to stay.”

“I can’t imagine you begging for anything,” Tony says and it’s supposed to be innocent but then he sees the flutter of Steve’s lashes and red tinge – just slightly- pinking his cheeks. Tony’s mouth goes dry and he’d do anything, anything to touch more than a knee. He licks his lips and says, “Kissing off limits then, huh?”

Steve purses his lips as if he’s trying to suppress a smile. He bows his head and doesn’t look up but says, “I think we were trying for platonic.”

For good measure as well as to test the water, Tony squeezes Steve’s knee and then pats it. “If you say so.”

Steve focuses on the hand on his leg, but says, “I’m pretty sure.”

“Come on, what a little groping gonna do to your virtue?” Tony says and leans closer.

“Is this supposed to be romancing me, because it sounds like cheap porno dialogue,” Steve says and shifts away from Tony’s touch.

He raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay you got me. But you need to excuse me, I’m a little enamored with you.”

Steve looks down again, away from Tony’s gaze, as if he cannot hold it, as if holding it might reveal too much. Tony can only hope it might sway Steve to his side of things. 

“Listen, I know you’re, well you, and I’m gonna try to do this your way.”

Steve climbs to his feet and rubs at his face. “Maybe I’m not everything you think I am Tony, like I said I’m a guy from Brooklyn, barely making it. I made a deal with a shady loan company because I couldn’t cover the mortgage. I work at a club downtown, because I can’t make ends meet. You really don’t know me.”

Tony rises and reaches his hand out. For long seconds, Steve only stares at it, until finally, finally he stretches out and clasps his hand. “What are we doing here, Steve? I’m interested. I want to hear the whole story. I want to know about the skinny kid you always talk about, I want to hear about your war stories, I want to learn how it is to be a dad. I want these things.”

“Because they intrigue you?”

“A little, yeah, I’m always interested in new and fascinating things, but mainly because you entrance me.” Tony brings Steve’s hand up to his lips, and turns the palm over and lightly, slowly, softly blows across it. And then he kisses, the gentlest of touches on the center of Steve’s palm. “I want to get to know you, I want this to be our beginning.”

Steve tries to hide a shudder; he almost succeeds but Tony feels the tremor through his hand. “We only have to wait until your bachelor’s party.”

“That’s all.”

“That’s it, after that,” Steve nods, and smiles.

For now, for right now, that’s enough for Tony, though he hungers for more.


	13. Chapter 13

Steve becomes increasingly agitated when he starts to add and put two and two together. The bachelor party Tony keeps talking about happens to be the same weekend that Steve has agreed to dance at a party out of town. He does not want Tony to know that he exotic dances; Tony cannot know about that part of his life. He’s not ashamed of it, but he keeps his life separate. He doesn’t want the parents of his art kids to know, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to try and explain how he’s Captain USA to Tony. That he lets men and women ogle him for money and that he – sometimes- really enjoys it. 

Tony means too much to him to destroy how Tony looks at Steve. He wants something in his life to be perfect. Emma is perfect and so is Tony. Tony has done nothing but accept Steve; he’s been sweet and has complied with every single one of Steve’s annoying requests. Tony even seems to be interested in what it means to be a parent. That’s rare he’s found out when he tries to date. Sure, Sam, was excited about it, but they work better as friends. 

“Seriously, what has got you all worked up tonight?” Sam says as he drops down on the bench next to Steve. They are cleaning up after their last set on Friday night. It’s three in the morning and Steve still has to get home and find time to sleep before Emma pops her little head out of the bedroom and wants to go out and do something. 

“No, nothing, I just,” Steve says and peers over his shoulder at Maria as she confers with Clint on their dance routine for the party. He leans in close to Sam. “Do you have any idea who we’re dancing for?”

Sam shrugs. “Nope, don’t really care. We are going to make a ton of tips.” 

Steve grimaces and Sam says a little oh. “I need to find out.”

“Ask Clint, he might have seen something,” Sam says and slaps him on the back. “Clean up and get out of here.”

“The back stage – the costumes-.”

“I’ll do it, go home.” Sam gets up and heads toward the costume area where they have to package everything to be cleaned before tomorrow night. Hill runs a fairly clean place and insists on getting things laundered after every use. It cuts into their tips but Steve appreciates it. 

“Thanks,” Steve says and then strips down so that he can throw the costume in to be cleaned as well. He tugs on his boxers and then his jeans while Barton comes over and starts to undress. Once Hill is out of earshot, Steve turns to Clint. “Hey, do you know – have any idea about the client for the big party?”

Clint lifts a shoulder as he digs in his cubby, getting his street clothes. “Yeah, I kind of saw some of the invoices. Why?”

“Can you share?”

“It’s not a big deal, Steve, we’ll protect your virtue.” 

Sighing, Steve wants to rattle Clint but instead he says, “I kind of want to know, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, it’s not up for grabs info.”

“You know I run a kids’ art school, if this gets out,” Steve says and, appealing to Clint’s better side always works, especially since he has his own domestic issues back in the bread basket. 

“Okay, okay. Word is, from what I saw, it was being charge to Hammer and his, you know, company.”

“Justin Hammer?” Steve hisses. He’s not sure what he hates more about this – that Vanko will probably be there or that he’s agreed to dance for that scum. 

“Yeah, see I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” Clint says. “Listen, you’re not going to be there for anything but the dance, right? Once the dance is over Thor’s bringing you home. You don’t have to worry about Vanko.”

“I can handle, Vanko,” Steve says and takes out his jacket. 

“Then what’s this all about?” 

Steve only shakes his head. He’s certain he’s heard Tony mention Hammer before, but the fact remains that Stark and Hammer in the business industry are like oil and water. From this, Steve has to conclude that Hammer is not the one throwing an exclusive party for Tony and Ty. It would be too coincidental anyhow. He’s safe and can release a little of the tension bunching up his shoulders.

“Not much,” Steve says. “Just checking. I gotta go.” He leaves before Clint can interrogate him any further and he’s on the subway riding back. He’s more than tired and swaying as the car moves through the tunnels. His phone chirps and he rummages in his bag before he finds it.

_Tomorrow?_

_????_ Steve replies because he’s just not very coherent at three thirty in the morning.

_Fitting the arm!!!!!!!!_

Steve smiles and sends a little smiley face to Tony. Bucky will be excited, well, continue to be bursting. Steve doesn’t think he’s seen Bucky this happy since before they joined the army. Things seem to be rolling in the right direction for both of them. Tomorrow, Steve will send a note to the legal representative that Tony referred him to about the mortgage and then it will be only a few weeks until the party and he and Tony can really start seeing one another.

It feels too good to be true.

By the time he arrives home, the clock hits nearly 4:45 am. He drops to the corner on the cushions to fall immediately asleep. He doesn’t wake again until Emma shakes his shoulder and says, “Daddy, when are we going?”

He grumbles and blinks. “What time is it?”

Standing in the kitchen with a towel, Bucky says, “Nearly noon.”

“Damn it,” Steve says and sits up. “Why did you let me sleep so long? I have class-.”

“I called in a sub,” Bucky says and throws the towel to the side. “You can teach the afternoon class or we can go out for lunch, and then have ice cream before we go over to Stark’s.”

“I don’t know, Bucky -.”

“I got a job, Stevie,” Bucky says and smiles. One of those rare smiles that have begun to become not so rare anymore around here. 

Steve rubs at the sleep still in his eyes as Emma climbs on top of him. He maneuver her a bit and then sits up. “What, with Nat’s nefarious organization?”

“It’s not nefarious, it’s government and please stop, you’re ruining the mood. Right Emma?”

“Yep, Daddy, you’re a sour puss.”

“I am not,” Steve sets her to the side and gets to his feet. He feels like someone walked over him with hiking boots on last night. Cracking his back, he heads to the bathroom. “I can’t afford to pay for a sub, Bucky, you know that.”

“Foggy doesn’t need to be paid,” Bucky yells to him and Steve cringes. 

“Not Foggy, you probably scared away the kids or, at least, have the parents all questioning my judgement in help,” Steve says as he takes off his clothes. Maybe Sam is right, maybe he should try ultimate fighting or something. He showers and then shaves. Checking his phone which he left in his jeans’ pocket, he finds that he has several text messages from Tony and too little time to do anything about them.

Rushing out of the bathroom, he goes to the kitchen and scrounges a bowl of cereal with no milk to eat. “Have to go grocery shopping.”

“Emma and I will go and pick up some stuff while you’re teaching, unless we can go to lunch and have ice cream.” Emma hops around on the couch.

“Please Daddy.”

“Foggy isn’t a good substitute. He has no artistic ability at all. For god’s sake he’s this much above an ambulance chaser.” Steve shows a tiny space between his thumb and index finger.

“Oh, come on,” Bucky says. “He can draw a straight line with a ruler. Anyhow, he needs the money, too. Give him a break.”

“This all sounds questionable. And I thought I wasn’t paying him?” 

Emma flutters her long lashes at him and smiles her dimples and toothless grin. “Please Daddy, I was real quiet while you were snoring. And I called Granna, she said I should have ice cream.”

“I’m sure your grandmother did not say you need ice cream.” He puts the dry cereal on the counter and says, “And, I don’t snore.”

Before Emma can protest, Bucky puts a finger to her mouth and says, “If you say so, come on lunch and ice cream.”

He considers them both and then relents. “Okay, okay.” Raiding their coffee can for extra cash, he grabs his phone and a coat for Emma. He doesn’t bother with her crutches but scoops her up in his arms and carries her down the stairs as Bucky follows. 

“Should I check on Foggy?”

“Only if you want to be horrified, have to stay here, and break your daughter’s heart,” Bucky says.

“Okay, then,” Steve turns from the door to the art school, and they leave the building via the back exit. They start their walk and end up in the direction of the park. On the way they find a street vendor offering gyros and Emma goes wild for one, even though Steve’s sure she won’t like it.

In the end he buys them three with some water and juice to go another with it. They wander their way to the park and end up sitting on the bench eating. The ducks are insistent they like gyros as well, but when Emma offers some of the wrap to them they honk at her so loudly she cries. 

“Baby, baby,” Steve says as he rocks her. 

“I wanna go home,” Emma says and grabs onto him, clutching his shirt. “No one likes me, not even the ducks.” 

Steve looks down at her, trying to catch a glimpse. “What’s that all about? You have lots of friends at school.” The corner of his eyes he sees Bucky waving at him. “What?”

Emma answers instead. “Melvin said he don’t like me because of my twisted up legs.”

Bucky grasps his shoulder and firmly keeps him in place. “Whoa there, Daddy, it’s okay Darcy already talked to Melvin and his parents.”

He rocks her and she sniffles into his shirt. “When did this happen?”

Bucky mumbles something and Steve asks again. “Okay, all right, it was earlier this week. But don’t get all grouchy, we figured it out. Didn’t we Emma?”

She nods but still quakes a bit in Steve’s arms. “Let’s go get ice cream, sweetie.” Steve hoists her up and grabs the trash.

“Can we go see Iron Man?” Emma says. 

Steve eyes Bucky and then looks back at Emma. Emma isn’t supposed to come with them for the arm fitting. It’ll take too long and he already set up a babysitter. “Peter’s coming over to play with you. Remember.”

She flops on him, so loose that he has to quickly adjust his hold. “Ah, Peter always wants to pretend he’s Spiderman. He sings about it.”

“Peter sings about Spiderman?” Bucky cleans up their trash as Steve hands what little he picked up to him. 

“Spiderman, Spiderman, watch out, he does what a spider can.”

Bucky mouths ‘wow’ at Steve at how off tune she is. Rolling his eyes, Steve says, “That’s a nice song.”

“I don’t know all the words,” Emma admits. “I am not a spider. I am Captain Marvel.”

“Oh that’s a new one,” Bucky says and they starts toward the local ice cream shop. The ice cream shop visit consists of Emma regaling them with tales of how Captain Marvel and Iron Man are bestest of friends and fly around the world fighting villains named Melvin. While Steve tries not to encourage it, he finds it hard to stop Emma when she’s been hurt by someone, especially someone she liked. 

When they return to the art school, the students are leaving and they look a little dazed. One of the little girls asks Steve if he’ll be back next week to teach and he promises he will. They all cheer. 

“We’ll have a make-up day at the end of the session.”

All the parents agree and finally they are left alone, waiting upstairs in their flat waiting for Peter to arrive. When he does, all of Steve’s fears concerning Emma’s state of mind disappear because he immediately picks her up and says, “Captain Marvelous, you are looking pretty beautiful today.”

She laughs and bats at him.

“Okay, Peter, we’re going to be out a few hours,” Steve says. 

“No problem, been looking forward to playing Spidey all day, my spidey senses are tingling.”

Emma giggles as Peter settles down next to her on the carpet in the living room. 

“Thanks, Pete,” Steve says and they hustle out of the door. He’s looking forward to seeing Tony, especially since he hasn’t been able to really talk to him other than the occasional text in the last day or so. Once they make it to Manhattan and are allowed access to the Tower, he’s jittery and Bucky cannot help but notice.

“Geez, settle down man,” Bucky says. “You’d think you’re the one going to get a new arm.”

“It’s exciting, what can I say,” Steve says and tries to pass off his excitement on seeing Tony as the same as his anxiety about Bucky’s arm. It works and he’s silently grateful. 

Tony greets them at the penthouse level and guides them both down to the workshop. Once they get there, he asks Steve to help him with something from storage as he sets up some sensors on Bucky’s bare stump. 

“Sure, okay?” Steve says and follows Tony toward the back of the workshop and into the small corridor. When they get to the dim hallway, Tony corners Steve with hands on either side of his head, pushing him up against the wall.

“I don’t think I can stand it,” he confesses. “I’m thinking about you all the time. I almost called Ty Steve this morning when he called.”

“Ty called?” Steve tries to dislodge him, but he doesn’t actually try as hard as he should. He likes the press of Tony’s body against his own. 

Tony noses at Steve’s throat, not touching only hovering close. “Yeah, yeah, did you know you smell good. So good.”

“That’s not what Emma says,” Steve replies and sinks into the idea of Tony enjoying being close to him, of smelling Tony’s scent on him. 

“She’s wrong, oh you smell divine,” Tony says and he blows a hot stream of air along the curve of Steve’s neck. “Let me, just one kiss, Steve.”

“Tony,” Steve says and his willpower is giving out. He’s dreamed of Tony all these past nights, and wanted to touch Tony. Damn, he doesn’t even know the last time he had any time to himself to jerk off. He’s hard already in his jeans and it hurts and he wants to forget all of their promises. But he doesn’t – he never does. “No, no.” Putting his hands on Tony’s lean chest he pushes him gently away. “Not yet.”

Tony drops back and considers him. “You have the willpower of a superhero, you know that?”

“Ah,” Steve says. “You don’t know the half of it.”

They stand there, staring at one another for another few seconds because Tony comes to himself. He lifts Steve’s hand to his lips and kisses. “I cannot wait to know more than half, I want the whole thing.”

“Hey, you guys need any help?” Bucky calls and they both jump away from one another. 

“No, no,” Tony says and waves Steve away as he continues down the corridor. Steve hangs there waiting to find out what he’s actually supposed to do. “Go, I’ll get it.”

“What was I doing here then?” Steve says.

“Being a good boy apparently,” Tony says and mumbles a curse as he disappears through a door.

Steve waits a moment, but then goes back to the main workshop area. “Hey.”

“What’s going on? Why’d he want you back there?” Bucky says and his stump moves as if he gesturing. 

“I don’t know, he’s confusing.” Steve throws up his hands because he really is a bad liar.

“Why are you blushing?”

“Maybe I’m hot.”

“Maybe you’re crushing on Stark, making moon eyes at him” Bucky says. “Forget it, man, he’s marrying that Stane guy.”

“I get it, I get it,” Steve says. He plops down on the chaise and waits as Tony comes back in empty handed, Bucky turns to look at Steve as if to say ‘what the hell?’ but Steve has no explanation and only lifts a shoulder.

“Okay let’s try this out,” Tony says and decidedly doesn’t look at Steve. “I haven’t fabricated a good covering. All of the artificial skin plastics suck and biologics rot, so I am in the middle of what to do-.”

“I like the metal, it’s cool,” Bucky says.

Tony tilts his head. “You sure?” 

“He likes shiny things,” Steve says and closes his eyes.

“Are we resting again, Sleeping Beauty,” Tony asks as he preps the arm. 

Bucky snickers. “You think he’s cute.”

“Well, doesn’t everyone?” Tony gets to work on the arm and has Bucky sit on the stool next to his. As he concentrates, he switches tools, working on the artificial limb and testing different programs as he does. He talks with his friendly guy in the sky, JARVIS until he’s finally ready to fit the arm to Bucky. “It’ll be a tight fit. You need to remove your shirt.”

Steve shoots up and joins them much to Tony’s surprise. Bucky hesitates only for a millisecond and then tugs off his t-shirt to reveal his heavily scarred chest and upper arm. Tony’s seen part of it before, but not this much. He whistles.

“Wowza.”

Frowning, Steve says, “You know that’s kind of rude.”

“Steve, it’s no big deal.”

“Hey I guess I can say something because it’s like we’re twins or something.” Tony lifts up his t-shirt to show off his scarred chest. “See? Not all of us can be Adonis.”

Steve feels the heat come to his face and he says, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean-.”

In unison, they both say, “We know.”

It breaks the ice and then Steve settles back on the lounger as Tony and Bucky work on the arm. This time Steve doesn’t fall asleep he scans the workshop with its strange one armed robot and different types of equipment scattered about the floor. Shelves have all kinds of different creations stored on them and he smiles when he thinks of all of these coming from Tony.

“Hey, punk?” Bucky says and shakes him.

He jerks and turns around to see that Bucky has his new prosthetic arm functioning and has enough control over it to touch and shake Steve. “Wow, I mean, that’s fantastic.”

“Take it for a ride, walk around and pick things up, I want to do some readings on it,” Tony says and, as Bucky complies, JARVIS comes over the speakers.

“Sir, your fiancé is on the line.”

Tony sighs and almost waves the phone call off but Steve jumps in and says, “You should probably take that.”

Grumbling, Tony scowls at him, but says, “I’ll take it on my phone.”

“Transferring, sir.”

As Tony puts the phone to his ear, he points to Bucky and then gestures for him to continue. “JARVIS will take the readings. Walk around, touch things, don’t break anything.”

Steve focuses his attention on Bucky, but he can’t help but overhear Tony’s conversation.

“Hey, Ty, I didn’t expect-.” He pauses and then after a few minutes says, “That’s a surprise. No, I’ve been working – what? No, no, on another project.” He stops again as he listens. “You don’t have to, no, you can keep- Obie would want you- of course, I want you to come back. Of course, yes. Okay, sure. Can’t wait. What?” He stops and then says, “Yeah, me too. What?” He huffs. “Yes of course I do. Ty, you sound a little needy. Okay, okay, I love you.” He pauses and then his voice quiets. “Yeah, sorry, sure. I love you, bye.”

He presses the disconnect and turns around just as Steve switches his attention to Bucky – who happens to be staring at Steve. Tony catches all of it and then brushes it off. “Sorry about that boys, apparently I’m marrying someone who’s a little bit more – I don’t know – an asshat than I thought.”

Steve frowns. “Sounded like he just needed some reassurance, Tony. Sounds like he misses you.” He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as wrecked as he thinks he does. 

“Ty’s just acting,” Tony says, and it sounds weak and reaching to Steve’s ears. 

“I think it’s sweet,” Bucky says and ambles over to Steve, wrapping his metal arm around him. “Don’t you think so, Stevie? Someone missing me like that would be a real treat.”

“You have Nat, and she never wants to leave your side,” Steve says and pulls away from Bucky only to have to drag Steve back by his collar. 

“This thing works great. A little stiff around the shoulder, but I can even feel the feedback at what I’m touching. How do you do that?” 

Thankfully, this turns Tony back to this task at hand and Ty’s phone call is forgotten. Or on the surface it’s forgotten, Steve only replays it over and again in his head – especially the last part where Tony’s voice had dropped and become softer, gentler, even kind when he said the second _I love you_. 

Before he’s realizes it, he’s wanders to the door of the workshop and he itches to leave. He knows he shouldn’t run, he shouldn’t try and escape but the truth of the matter is still there – that Tony is engaged, and there’s a good chance that Ty had nothing to do with the attack on Tony’s convoy in Afghanistan. He might be innocent. He might be in love with Tony.

And Steve is just in the way. 

“Hey, what are you doing, Steve?” Tony says.

Standing at the doorway, he checks his phone to see the time. “I have to go. I’m working at the club tonight and we still have to get across town and relieve the babysitter.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” Tony says, and it sounds almost careless and it hurts – and Steve’s not sure why. He feels like a fool. “I can ring up Happy, he can take you home and to the club.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I just have to- Bucky, are you ready?”

Bucky is opening and closing his metal hand for Tony. “Hmm, am I?”

Tony considers the arm and then throws up his hands. “I guess. Why don’t you give it a go and I’ll come retrieve it on Monday night. It will record the data in the small computer in the shoulder attachment. So, don’t go jerking off because I’ll know.”

“God damn, it’s like it has its own mind,” Bucky says.

“Of course, that’s what makes it world’s above all the other ones out there,” Tony says. 

“You ready?” Steve says, he’s antsy to leave. Tony furrows his brows and studies him like he’s a puzzle, but Steve only wants out. “Okay, then are we going?”

“Okay, okay, we got time. Geez, you’d think you like working at that club.”

“Come on Bucky,” Steve says and he tells himself he didn’t just whine in front of Tony. His lungs feel tight and he only wants to get out. Finally the leads are taken off of the arm and Bucky does a half salute to Tony and follows Steve up the stairs as he calls back his goodbyes.

“Geez, Steve, that was really rude,” Bucky says as they ride the elevator down. “You know, he’s doing me a favor, a big one. This could change a lot of things for me. And you are acting weird-.”

That’s when he decides to hyperventilate – or his body decides that now is a good time for an asthma attack. He fumbles in his pocket for his rescue inhaler and Bucky’s hands (with an s) are on his and hauling it away and then placing it between his lips. 

“Come on, you punk,” Bucky says and puffs the inhaler into Steve’s mouth.

He coughs and chokes on it, but it relieves his tortured bronchi enough that he rasps in a breath easier. “Damn it,” he gasps. It’ll be nearly impossible to have a good night at the club now. 

“Jesus, Steve, what is going on,” Bucky says and hands him back the inhaler. 

As the elevator stops and they exit, Steve barely contains the sputtering cough, the choking feeling in his throat. “Forget it, I have to get home.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything but they make their way to the flat. Even as Steve pays Peter, gets ready to go, kisses Emma on the forehead and finds his way to the subway, his chest aches. He blames it on the attack, but he knows it something else. 

“Damn it.”


	14. Chapter 14

“When can I see you again?” Tony asks as he holds the phone to his ear. He’s on his way to the airport because Ty decided to come back early. He suspects Obie has something to do with it, and he also worries that Obie suspects that Tony’s investigating the events surrounding his abduction.

“I’m not sure,” Steve says and it sounds like he’s running.

“Are you running? Where are you?”

“I’m on my way to the club.”

“It’s the middle of the day, I thought you didn’t work at the club during the day?” Tony says and checks the clock on the dash. It’s nearly one in the afternoon. 

“Not usually, I was called in for something, a meeting,” Steve says, and the affected way he states it make Tony believe he’s lying.

“You know, you’re a terrible liar,” Tony replies and maneuvers the car through the traffic. “Here, let me put you through the car. I’m gonna kill myself otherwise.” 

“So I’ve heard,” Steve is saying. “Plus you’ll see me tonight at art class.”

“That’s not the same thing. You rushed out like your ass was on fire the other day. I sent you texts and, seriously, Steve, what’s up?” The traffic thickens and he scowls. Why the hell does he have to go and pick up Ty when they have services to do these things?

“I’m busy, you know, some of us have to work for a living.”

That one stings. “Ouch, what’s going on Steve?”

“Nothing, can we talk about this later? I’m getting to the club now and need to focus,” Steve says and seems rushed, even harassed.

“Sure, sure,” Tony says, and he’s not happy about it. Something’s off and he can tell. “I’ll talk to you tonight.”

The line disconnects before Tony can add anything and he stares at the end call message on the screen of his car’s dashboard. He knows he did something wrong. Steve pitched a fit and ran out of the workshop, and he hasn’t replied with anything more than a few lines on text. He’s being polite but not friendly. 

Tony mulls this over as he drives, coming to no conclusion at all. He tries to call Pepper but she’s out and then he turns to Bruce. Luckily, Bruce’s office answers.

“Tony, is there a problem? My nurse said you had an emergency. If it’s life threatening I should call 9-1-1- for you. Where are you? I’ll send the ambu-.”

“I’m not dying,” Tony says and steers the Audi onto the highway. “I need some advice, though that could lead me to a state of stress and dying – any minute.”

“Tony, I was in a meeting about a patient and a transplant.”

“Should you be telling me this, isn’t there a law?”

Bruce sighs. “It doesn’t matter if I don’t give any identifying information.”

“You know I could figure it out,” Tony replies.

“Tony, why did you call me?”

“I need your advice, like I said,” Tony says and heads out of the city toward the airport. “I think I might have fallen for my art teacher.” Saying it out loud feels freeing and a little terrifying.

“You’re getting married in a few weeks-.”

“Two, I think it’s a little over two weeks,” Tony says. “But that’s not happening.”

“What? Did you break off the engagement?” Bruce says. “Because I already made my reservation up at the Hamptons to go to your bachelors’ party.”

“No, not yet, but I will be breaking it off, but not until after the party,” Tony says.

“That does not sound nice, Tony, what’s going on? If you want to break up you should do it before the festivities start, don’t you think?” Bruce asks.

“I think he had something to do with my kidnapping. Didn’t I tell you, I think he and his father are trying to off me,” Tony says. “And don’t say I’m being paranoid, Pepper heard it too.”

“O-kay.” And the O is long and drawn out. “So why are you marrying him?”

“Because I have to get the evidence,” Tony says. “Are you going to listen to me about Steve?”

“Who’s Steve?”

“Steve is another name for Adonis, he’s my art teacher. Come on, Brucie boy, keep up,” Tony says and cuts through the lanes. 

“I don’t know what to say, Tony.”

“Maybe some advice? How do I keep him when I don’t officially have him?”

Bruce grumbles or growls over the line and then says, “I really don’t know, that’s not my expertise.”

“You’re a doctor.”

“I’m not sure what that has to do with your love life; I think I am canceling my reservations for your party,” Bruce says.

“No, you have to be there, I need back up.”

“You sound paranoid, Tony, maybe you should talk to someone about that.”

Tony exhales, loudly and purposefully. “I am talking to someone. And yeah, I know you are not that kind of doctor. So no, I am not going to see someone. Don’t cancel out on me Bruce, I’m counting on you.”

After that he ends the conversation and spends the rest of the ride in silence. Reviewing the circumstance of his visit with Steve, he teases apart the exact moment when things went sideways. “Shit, he heard me talking to Ty. God damn it.”

By the time he arrives at the airport, the anxiety and need to see Steve to clear things up pitches to sky high levels. Standing around waiting for Ty at the baggage claim only serves to accelerate his foul mood. Once the love of his life appears, Tony’s not in the mood, but since reporters spot them he needs to act the part. He swings into his best arrogant showman. He winks at the gathering crowd, kisses Ty soundly and takes his luggage. They escape the reporters and the crowd with the assistance of airport security. He slips the two guards a few hundreds while Ty climbs into the driver’s side of Tony’s car.

“Hey Babe, I can drive. I know you’ve been traveling all day,” Tony says as he leans into the window. He really doesn’t want the oaf driving his car.

“Get in buttercup, we’re going for a ride,” Ty says, and his tone darkens as the guards leave them.

Tony hesitates, but he gets into the car, and Ty snaps his fingers for the keys. He turns them over and Ty guns it, shifts into gear, and then pulls out. Ty drives like a maniac and Tony clutches on to the seat and snaps, “What the hell?”

“You want to tell me what you’ve been up to while I’ve been gone?”

“Working, I told you on the phone.”

“Really, what about your little boyfriend?” Ty says and reaches into his jacket pocket to toss his phone at Tony. “Look at my email from Doom Detective agency.”

Tony opens the phone and checks the email in question. There are attachment, multiple and they are photographs. There’s only three photos of Steve and Tony together. All of them taken when Steve and Tony took Emma to the park a few Sundays back. There’s nothing wrong with photos; it’s not like they’re making out.

“So, Steve’s a friend. He has a little girl.”

“Keep looking,” Ty says and takes the ramp to the highway. He doesn’t shift to look at Tony at all.

As Tony flicks through the photos as they download he spots a few pictures of the Tower, with Steve entering or exiting. All with Bucky conveniently cut out of the frame. “He came over with his friend. We’re working on the prosthesis-.”

“And the fact that your art class ends at nine and you don’t leave the building until after eleven?” Ty says and cuts off a truck that screams its horn at them.

“Jesus, Ty, take it easy,” Tony says. “Steve and I are just friends. That’s all.”

“Are you so sure?” Ty says. “I did a little looking into Steve Rogers. Did you know that he has a mortgage with some rat bastard named Schmidt – he’s like a loan shark. Your friend is playing you. He’s gonna ask for money.”

“He is not,” Tony says. “And then adds, and yes I did know that he has a crappy loan. I gave him a contact with the company to give him advice on how to manage his funds and business better. That’s all. He’s a friend, Ty.”

“You give him blow jobs, too?” 

“You know what, fuck you,” Tony says and tosses the phone back at Ty. 

“That’s nice, I come home early to be with you, and that’s what I get?” Ty says and turns the wheel a little too sharply. The car in the next lane over screeches and swerves.

“You’re going to get us or someone else killed. Stop over reacting. Steve’s a friend and that’s all.”

“Prove it, quit art class,” Ty says.

Tony glances over at him and notices that he’s chewing on his nails again. Ty only ever bites his nails when Obie’s on his case about something. “I’m not quitting art class; it’s part of my therapy to reduce my stress.”

Ty grimaces and scoffs at him. “Seriously, you like sitting there and coloring. I’ll buy you some coloring books and crayons.”

“You’re an ass, Ty.”

“Lovely,” Ty says and slams his fist on the steering wheel. “If you’re fucking him, I swear to God.”

Tony doesn’t understand why it’s so important for him to be faithful, especially since Ty’s been sleeping around with hookers over their entire engagement. This must all originate from Obie. “So, Obie had you hire the detective to follow me.”

Snapping his attention to Tony and then back to the road, Ty says, “So? Dad reads you like a book.”

“No, he reads you like a book, Ty. He knows you’re insecure and he’s trying to put a wedge between us for some reason.”

“He’s trying to protect his interests.”

“Which happens to be my company,” Tony mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing, let’s just get back home.” 

For the rest of the ride, they remain silent. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and telling. Not even Ty can pretend anymore that they are a loving couple. If Tony still had his heart set on marrying the bastard he would be hurt. He needs to keep up appearances though, he doesn’t want it to go south on him. 

He coaxes Ty into the penthouse living room when they get home and they end up on the couch with a disgusting porno playing in the background. Tony tries to suggest a movie that’s a real movie, but Ty insists on the explicit movie. Tony settles next to him and plays the perfect fiancé. He does his duty later, and gives Ty the perfect blow job. When it’s nearly time to go to art class, Ty lounges on the couch, his spent dick still out while Tony creeps away to shower and scour his mouth out. 

He gags a few times in the sink as he scrubs his tongue. At least, he didn’t swallow. He can’t believe Ty came home early, he was really hoping to get to spend quality time with Steve and his little girl. He dresses in jeans and a t-shirt, pulling a hoodie over it. Even with his best intentions, Ty stirs as he passes him to get to the elevator.

“Where you going?” Ty says. He sounds a little drunk, but then he’d opened a bottle of wine while they watched the movie. 

“Art class,” Tony says and diverts to give Ty a sloppy kiss. “See you tonight? Maybe you could come to bed, in my room?”

Ty snickers. “You always were a slut for my cock in your mouth. Tell that to your fag teacher.”

“Ty, that’s not nice,” Tony says but quickly goes to the elevator and JARVIS, thank god for his AI, opens the doors and helps Tony escape. The last thing Tony hears is Ty burping as he turns on another movie. Slumping against the inside of the car, Tony lets the exasperation shudder through him. He really needs the party to get here already.

Getting across town isn’t as bad as usual and he parks his car for art class about thirty minutes too early. Happy, he jumps out and heads to the school. When he opens the door, he walks in on Schmidt confronting Steve again.

“The late fee penalty is twenty five percent above the principal and interest. Additionally, Mister Rogers, your rate will increase as we discussed previously.”

“I wasn’t late,” Steve says as he catches sight of Tony. “My students are arriving, Mister Schmidt, you’ll have to leave.”

“I will leave when you pay me the twenty five percent you owe-.”

“I wasn’t late, I delivered the payment on time on the 30th. It isn’t my fault that your assistant didn’t hand it to you personally. I brought it by your office,” Steve says. He presses with his body weight and Schmidt backs toward the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have students to attend-.”

“This is not over, Mister Rogers. I will get my money. You will comply.”

By this time, Steve’s walked him out the door and, as he’s speaking, Steve pushes him further and closes the door on him. He locks it, pulls down the shade, and then leans against it. “Damn it.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Tony crosses the space between them.

Steve opens his mouth as if he’s going to answer and then shakes his head. “Nothing, nothing. Schmidt says I was late. I wasn’t – I hand delivered it to his offices, but that weasel Zola didn’t give him my payment until two days later.”

“You got a receipt, right?” Tony says. “That should have the date on it.”

Steve looks around and rubs at the back of his neck. “No, I didn’t.”

“Steve,” Tony says. “You called about my contact, right?”

“No,” Steve says and winces. “Okay, okay, I know I fucked up. I screwed up, but I didn’t have time and I forgot to get the damned receipt and now I’m going to owe another fucking mint.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Tony says and puts his hands on both of Steve’s shoulders. “Calm down. We’ll figure something out.”

Steve stares at him, and there’s a regret shadowing his features. “No, Tony, _we_ won’t.” Slowly, he knocks Tony’s hands off of his shoulders. “I think we’re going to have to cool it. That you should probably focus on your fiancé.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Tony says and he does step away. “Are you talking about the fiancé who tried to have me killed?”

“I don’t know about that and neither do you. I’m talking about the fiancé that you love, that you say I love you to,” Steve says but Tony never gets to reply because there’s a rapping on the door and art class is about to begin.

“This isn’t over,” Tony says, but Steve only disregards his statement and opens the door to his students. 

Jan greets Tony and tries to engage him in a discussion about the seminar given by Erik Selvig. Tony tries his best, he does, but his mind replays the conversation with Steve overlaid with his phone call with Ty last Saturday. He cannot believe he made such a raw mistake, that he would let Steve hear him say _I love you_ to Ty. Half way through the art class, Tony has to excuse himself and he uses the small bathroom. 

He fucking gave Ty a blow job this afternoon just to get him to shut up. He feels dizzy as the heat of his embarrassment and shame burns too hot in him. What happened to his relationship with Ty. They used to be friends, they used to have things to talk about, debate. Now empty sex and explicit movies – that’s all they had left. He feels cold and realizes as he grips the edge of the sink that his hands quake. 

After too long, there’s a tapping on the door and Tony cups his hands under the cold water and rinses his face, trying to wash away the demons that lurk. 

“Tony?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming out,” Tony says and pulls the paper towel to dry his hands and face. He opens the door to find Steve standing there, studying him. 

“Hmm, you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” Tony says and goes back to his seat. He spends the rest of the class, staring at the fruit he’s managed not to touch at all today on his pastel. When the time’s up he methodically packs up and wonders what he should do next. He’s lost Ty to something other than time – something evil and horrid. And Steve – Steve he’s losing to stupidity.

When all the other students leave, Tony lingers and Steve doesn’t look at him but goes about his business of cleaning up the school room. 

“Steve.”

He stops folding the chairs but doesn’t turn around.

“Steve,” Tony starts again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you heard what you heard. I know it must hurt. But you have to know, I don’t love him.”

“That’s not the way it sounded,” Steve says and continues to stack the folded chairs along the wall.

“If I could make it better, right now I would,” Tony says. “I want to be with you. Christ, just minutes before I was trying to feel you up in my hallway.”

“How am I supposed to know if it means anything to you,” Steve says and shakes his head. “God, I was so stupid. You’re Tony Stark, after all.”

It hurts like an arrow shot long and true. It stuns and he holds himself still so as not to stagger and fall. Something rises in him, the persona that always protects him and shields him. “Oh, and you’re so proud and true, aren’t you, big boy.”

“What?” Steve looks pained almost shocked at Tony’s words. “You’re Tony Stark, through and through, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess not even you can see through the bullshit in the press prints,” Tony says and grabs his art supplies, ready to escape.

Steve comes after him, grasps his arm, and turns him around with sheer physical strength. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yeah, so? You’re not interested anymore. So just-.”

Releasing him, Steve throws his hands in the air, does a little spin on his heel and exhales. “That’s not true. I am interested, but you are Tony Stark and like I said, I am just a kid from Brooklyn. We don’t have shared life experiences. I’m the working middle class and you’re in the stratosphere. You and Ty have a lot more in common. You need him more than you need me.”

“I don’t need anyone.” Tony puts the emphasis on need, but he quickly continues because his anger is draining and he’s losing ground fast with Steve. “I want you, there’s a difference.”

Steve strikes back – because Steve’s a good student, listener, and understands a lot more than Tony gives him credit for. “You need Ty and his father. They’ve quieted down the Senate query on you, they’ve settled your board when you decided to stop all the military contracts. I read, Tony, I know.”

“So you would have me sell myself to the devil for material goods, because I thought better of you.”

“No,” Steve says. “That’s not what I mean. If you love him and he’s from your world, you shouldn’t waste your time on something that’s just a passing whim.”

“Passing whim? Is this a passing whim?” Tony says and drops his supplies on a tray table, rushes Steve and gathers him up in his arms. Steve’s leaning against one of the tables and it’s not solid. As Tony attacks his mouth, Steve can’t do anything but steady them, keep them from falling over. 

Tony has all the time in the world to explore and taste and feel. This might be their second kiss but it’s everything the first wasn’t. It’s dirty and hungry, and full of need. It’s biting and tasting and volatile. Tony’s hands are on Steve’s face, keeping him close; it’s intimate and vulnerable all at once. It’s filthy the way that Steve moans and the press of hips against one another and Tony can see how very quickly this will devolve. 

Steve doesn’t pull away, Tony’s not sure he could because his strength is the only thing that’s keeping them upright. Yet, he could protest he could turn his head, instead he’s opening and eager. When Tony travels further down, kissing the tender, sensitive spots on Steve’s throat he turns and bares his neck. Tony feels the power, the potency of their touches, their kisses, and he wants more.

He breaks away. “Tell me I can have you, Steve, tell me I can have you.”

Steve doesn’t quake or shiver but there’s a definite feeling of pulsing excitement through him. He flutters his eyes open and his pupils darken his entire eyes with only a sliver of blue about them. “Tony.” It’s breathless and heavy.

At that moment, with Steve emotionally vulnerable, Tony realizes he would give the world to him. “We’ll be together, you get that? Only a few more weeks, and we’ll be together.”

Steve smiles. Tony allows himself one more kiss before stepping away. Steve rights himself and they stare, not awkward, but as if the world has just shifted under their feet. Something’s change and it’s magnificent.

“Okay, then,” Tony says. He finds his supplies. “I’ll send you a text, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve says and his cheeks are warmed to red, his lips bruised with the color.

He pecks Steve on the cheek, nods once, and then leaves. As he walks to the car, he understands one thing.

He loves Steve Rogers.


	15. Chapter 15

He shouldn’t have done that, he shouldn’t have allowed it. That kiss, that feeling roams around in his head all night and into the next days. He can’t let it go, and he was supposed to cut it off. But Tony clearly showed Steve meant something to him. He tries to focus on the fact that Tony thinks Ty and his father are trying to hurt Tony, trying to kill him. But then why would Ty comfort Tony when he first came back from Afghanistan, why would Ty ask Tony to marry him. Why would Tony say he loved Ty.

When he goes to sleep at night, he ends up staring at the ceiling and pretending he’s not overly heated, that Tony’s kiss doesn’t linger. It’s nearly impossible when Tony sends little love messages every night. He often wonders when Tony sleeps because even when Steve gets in at 4 am there’s a text popping up on his phone as he drops onto the couch cushions. 

The texts are sweet nothings but it leaves Steve with an ache he cannot resolve. He flops around on the cushions so much one night, Bucky finally says,

“Do you need me to leave?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says and even to him his voice sounds hungry, thick.

“I can go sit in the hall, if you need some quiet time with your hand, Steve,” Bucky says from the pullout. 

“Geez, Buck, my daughter’s in the next room,” Steve says and smashes his pillow with his fist. 

“Yeah, and I know you’re getting messages from Stark and I’ve seen the moon eyes, plus we’re living on top of one another here. I don’t know when the last time I was friendly with my right hand,” Bucky says and his words aren’t meant to cut.

“You got Nat,” Steve says and turns over on his stomach. He wishes his dick would leave it alone, the kiss, the pressure of Tony’s body against his own. 

“Yeah, but every healthy boy needs to have a good relationship with his hand,” Bucky chuckles. “When’s the last time you got laid, Steve? When’s the last time you jerked off?”

Steve turns over again and covers his face with his arm. “I don’t remember.”

“You are seriously going to die of blue balls.”

“No one dies from not having sex.”

“Sure they do,” Bucky says. “It just happens to be women, a lot and it’s not sex, not really.”

“When did this conversation take such a serious turn?” Steve says and sits up. His dick aches. 

“Well, you’re not willing to admit you got it bad for Stark, that he’s been over here for dinner, and that you’re texting him every other minute of the day,” Bucky says.

“Emma is such a big mouth,” Steve says and leans against the wall with the windows. “He’s gonna break it off with Ty.”

“Yeah, when’s that gonna be? After the honeymoon, three kids, and college for the kids?” 

Steve smirks, leave it to Bucky to be ready to rescue Steve from a lifetime of pining. “After the bachelor’s party. He’s gotta get some evidence on Stane.”

“Which Stane? One or both?”

“Both,” Steve says. “He’s working with the same organization you got the job with.”

“SHIELD? He’s working with Coulson and Fury, isn’t he?” Bucky says. “I knew they were hiding some information from me. You do know they got you under surveillance now, right?”

“Great, all I need is for them to tell Tony I strip at an exotic club.”

“Shit, doesn’t he know?” Bucky says. 

“He only knows I work at a club; he thinks I’m the bouncer,” Steve replies and yawns. He needs sleep. At least the little talk has calmed down his nerves and needs. 

“Get some sleep, I’ll get Emma to school before I go to work.”

He fades down to the cushions and mumbles his thanks before he finally drifts off. He only recalls a whispered, _love you_ from Emma and a kiss on the cheek before he falls asleep again. By the time he wakes up it is ten in the morning and he’s alone in the apartment.

Except for the phone. 

There are texts – multiple ones. 

_Loved the story about your mom_. Steve smiles – he’d sent a short text about his mom and how she inspires him with Emma every day. Tony had asked how Steve deals with Emma’s physical challenges and he’d brought up his mom.

There’s another text. _I was closer to my mom than my dad_

And another. _Dad had a drinking problem and a Tony problem_

And then another. _I hope I can be a good dad someday_.

Steve answers, _you will be_

The thought of Tony not being a good dad doesn’t fit with all that Steve knows about Tony now. Over the course of the week, Steve’s learned so much through texts and emails and short phone calls when Tony can sneak them in. Steve feels heady with the knowledge and light as if the air around him cushions his stride. He gets up and reconstructions the couch, putting the pillows back in place. After stretching a few times he goes to the bathroom to shower. It’s only a week until the big party that he’s dancing for and he needs to go to practice this morning. 

Right before he turns on the hot water, his phone buzzes. He checks it and sees a goofy photo of Tony with the dunce cap that he usually makes his robot arm wear. He has it on his head and a sign that states _Meeting this Morning, Can’t Call_. Steve sends back a text with the requisite sad face. 

After he strips, he gets into the shower and lets the water pound down on him. Usually he takes the time to go through his new dance routine in his head as he showers, humming the tune as he goes. It’s a particularly length routine, with a lot of suggestive movements and hip thrusts. By the time he’s half-way through he’s not thinking about anything but Tony. His dick hardens and he wonders how the hell he’ll be able to do the dance if he associates it with Tony. He’ll be fucking hard all the way through the damn dance.

He tries to push the thoughts away but he’s so needy that he can’t stop himself when he takes himself in hand and begins a slow motion, exploring the length, the head, the blood vessels. He hitches a breath as he commits to it, as he begins to increase his speed, as he centers all of his sensory perceptions on this one thing. The motion of his hand, the thickness of his erection, the urge to come immediately, but holding back because he wants to think about how it would be with Tony.

Touching him.

Kissing him.

Tasting him.

A weight pressed down, a body beneath, the heat and scent so strong and potent he wouldn’t be able to deny it. His motions become fierce and he groans as he comes over his hand in a hot spill of semen. He stumbles in the shower, the water going decidedly cooler as he finds himself again. 

Turning his face into the water, he tries not to think about how hard it will be to dance for anyone else but Tony. He finishes up and turns the water off. Toweling dry, he slips on his boxers as the phone rings its alarm telling him he has to get to practice. 

“Only a few more weeks,” he mutters and then he realizes that he’s made another commitment in his head. That he would leave the club and stop dancing once he and Tony became a couple. It’s stupid to think, especially since he’s not a gold digger, he cannot expect Tony to take care of them. He flips through his contacts and presses the one for the finance/legal person Tony gave him. 

She answers immediately and she even knows who he is. After a short conversation as he dresses, they make plans to meet and discuss Steve’s situation. He’s packed and ready to go and practice. They all decided to meet up at a local gym that’s close to Steve’s place for once. It’s nice not to have to truck all the way into Manhattan. 

Sam and Clint are already there with no signs of Pietro or Loki when Steve arrives. Hill rented out the gym for the day and Logan’s busying pulling down the blinds so no one can watch. They won’t be stripping during the practice but coming fairly close to it. 

“Hey,” Clint says and they shake hands in greeting.

“Ready to get this party started?” Sam says and claps Steve on the back. 

“As soon as Pietro and Loki show up,” Steve says and looks around. “Where are they?”

“Pietro’s coming, he’s late.” Clint shrugs. “Don’t know about Loki.”

“Not like Pietro to be late, he’s always everywhere first,” Sam notes and starts to get the equipment cleared from the center of the gym. Steve helps him and by the time their done, both missing dancers have shown up. 

Sam sets up the music and they start with a few easy moves to stretch and get ready. Maria hangs in the back with her phone and a ledger.

“What’s up with the little black book?” Steve asks. 

“Guest list?” Clint says.

“For the big party?” Steve follows the spin and then moves into the center as the rest of them fan out. 

“You got that right, she’s making list, checking it twice-.”

Clint finishes for Sam. “She’s finding out who’s going to be naughty and who’s doing the nasty.”

“I don’t think that’s the way it goes,” Steve says with a laugh.

“Rumor has it, my dear Captain, that is the Stane-Stark bachelor party.”

Steve staggers out of the step and spins around to Loki. “What? I didn’t hear that. It’s a party for Hammer, Justin Hammer and associates.”

Loki only smiles, that cat like smile that reminds Steve the man probably chokes on canaries in his off time. 

“Clint, did you hear anything about the party. I thought it was Hammer?” Steve says and he’s stopped the dance entirely. 

“Yeah, it is – you want to take it from measure-.”

“No, I want to know who the party is for,” Steve leaves their makeshift dance floor and joins Hill and Logan on the sidelines. “Maria, can I talk to you?”

She eyes Logan for a second, but then nods and brings Steve over to the elliptical stands and says, “What can I do for you, Steve?”

“Who’s the party for?”

“You know I can’t answer that, we signed an agreemen-.”

“Loki says it’s the Stane-Stark bachelor party, is it?”

Hill curses under her breath and glares at Loki’s turned back. “More trouble than he’s worth.” She turns to face Steve. “Yes, it’s for Stane and Stark.”

Steve sinks down onto the seat of the nearest machine. His shoulders sag and he feels as if he’s clattering apart, like an old junked car. “I don’t – I can’t.”

“Now, don’t you tell me, you can’t, Steve. A lot of people are depending on you. You know Clint has family he’s sending money to, and that Sam helps support his sick niece. And what about Pietro and his sister, have you thought about that? Have you considered why Pietro was late today?”

“No,” Steve says, and he feels his words shrink as he does.

“His sister, she had a bad seizure today. She went to the emergency room. You can’t do this to them,” Hill says. “Hammer specifically mentioned you.”

“But I can’t dance for Tony Stark, I can’t-.” Steve cuts himself off and squeezes his eyes closed. The worst is happening. Everything Tony thought he was is going to be torn away from Steve. 

“Listen, Steve, I know you’re looking to get out of the business,” Hill says. “Stay, dance, and I will give you four weeks severance as well as your cut from the party. It should you up for a few months until you find something else.”

Steve weighs his options, but he doesn’t really have any. “Okay, yeah, sure.”

He’s going to lose Tony if he goes in on this without confessing that he’s a stripper. He tells himself he’s not ashamed all the time, but the truth is he doesn’t want people to know that he works in the sex industry. People love to watch, they love to consume the products of the sex industry but they shun it, and low brow it like it’s the lowest way to earn a good living.

Hill glances at him with a question in her expression. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah, sure, let’s get back to the rehearsal.” 

There’s only a week before the bloody party, and Steve has to figure out what he’s going to do. He meets with the financial/legal person and during the meeting, off the top of his head, he asks how much he would lose if he sold the place. The finance person doesn’t think that’s his best bet, but the idea starts to take root. 

He knows that Kashena’s family has never been happy that he took Emma so far away from them. They live on the outskirts of Atlanta in a small town. They go there every summer for a few weeks. It’s a nice place but he doesn’t know a lot about it. He spends some of his precious free time in the library hunting down information about the town. Moving down there, he could stay with Kassie’s family at first until he’s on his feet. He could probably get a small flat and rent a store front for a framing shop and art school. It doesn’t look like there’s too much competition. He’d have Kassie’s family around and it would help things out. 

Bucky is in good shape now, he would probably love to move in with Natasha. He has a job and things should work out. The next thing he knows he’s pressing Schmidt’s contact number in his phone.

When Schmidt answers, Steve jumps in and says, “I’d like to talk terms of sale, Mister Schmidt.”

“You are thinking of selling the school, Mister Rogers.”

“The whole building, yes,” Steve says. He’s sitting in the empty school. It is the Monday before the big party. There’s only an hour before the adult class starts. 

“So, business is not as it seems?” Schmidt says. “You still owe a great deal on the loan.”

“Yes, I do, I’m putting the building on the market, and I recall I have a clause that says you have the right of first refusal.”

“Yes, that is true,” Schmidt pauses and it feels like he’s scrutinizing Steve’s breathing pattern. He holds his breath. “I could purchase the building. I will give you the amount of the last appraisal.”

“That’s before I did the repairs and renovations,” Steve says and that appraisal was considerably driven by the market and comparables. While the neighborhood is currently undergoing a renaissance of sorts, when Steve had the building appraised for his mortgage it wasn’t and so the numbers are low – much lower than his mortgage. “That would short me, considerably.”

“I want the building and I gave you my offer,” Schmidt says. 

“I can’t afford a short sale, Mister Schmidt, it would ruin my credit.”

“And I cannot afford to carry your loan burden, Mister Rogers. If you do not pay the entire loan off, you will leave me no choice but to send it to a collection agency.”

Steve sighs and says, “Thanks, nevermind, forget it.” He hangs up the phone and cradles his head in his hands. He can’t get out. Tony’s going to find out that he’s a damned stripper and then what is he going to do? 

Of course, running away with Emma in tow isn’t the right thing to do. When has he ever run away from anything in his life? He picks up one of the vases he has some of the students use for still life and launches it across the room. It shatters against one of his painting, his worthless paintings that no one wants to buy. Maybe he should be thinking about this the other way around. Maybe all he is – is a dancer, a stripper, nothing more. He’s a stripper with a dream to be an artist. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” 

Steve bolts up right and sees Tony standing at the door. Glancing at the clock he notes that Tony’s early. “You’re early.”

“Yeah, I had a fitting, the last one before the big event, and I swung by here to see you. What’s going on?” He looks at the shards of glass all over the floor. The spattered painting, because the vase must have had something in it. He doesn’t know because he refuses to use turpentine. He uses walnut oils to clean his brushes. 

“I-nothing, it’s nothing,” Steve says and he cannot find it in himself to confess to Tony that he’s deceived him. “Just financial stuff.”

“Did you get in touch with Andi?”

“Yeah, she was nice, good,” Steve says and doesn’t elaborate.

“Well then, let her handle it,” Tony says with a wave. “You got a broom and a dustpan.”

“Hmm?” He feels like he’s been hung out to dry. “Yeah, yeah, just sit, I’ll clean it up.”

Tony presses a hand to his shoulder to keep him seated. “You look frazzled. I can do it.” 

He sits in a strange kind of stupor as Tony goes to the small bathroom and retrieves the broom and dustpan. He cleans up the mess quickly and then takes a chair, turns it around and sits down. Leaning in his arms on the back of the chair he says, “You wanna tell me about it?”

“Not really.”

“That’s cool,” Tony says. “Next time I see you, I will be free man.”

Steve nearly gags on the words and jerks a little. “Yeah, yeah, next time.”

“Hey, honeybear, I would see you this week if I could but there’s all kinds of silly stuff we have to do for the wedding,” Tony says. “Plus Fury and Coulson told me to do everything and show up at all the events so that Obie or Ty don’t start sniffing anything.”

It’s ironic that Tony’s trying to assure Steve that everything will be fine, that they will be together soon. When none of it is true. Once Tony sees Steve dancing, the whole promise of what they could have been will disappear. 

All Steve can manage is mutter, “Yeah, I get it.”

“Steve, something’s wrong. What’s going on here?”

He’s not ready to confess; he hasn’t thought up the right words. Christ he was just trying to run, now he has to figure out whether or not he’s going to tell Tony he’s a stripper, not some wholesome American hero. He takes off his clothes for a living, dances with other men, and then gives lap dances while men and women feel him up. 

“I- I have to get ready for class.” He’s able to throw Tony off for a good portion of the class because one of the students is having difficulties with her painting. Steve spends time with her discussing how to shade and use light to create the illusion of the figure. 

He wonders how the truth gets shaded, shadowed with the mirage of words and omissions. How reality is only what we perceive it to be by the allowances others give us, and the permissions we receive. 

The class clears out at nine and Tony loiters as he always tends to do. While Steve clears up the pastel dust and puts easels away, Tony says, “I wanted to know, if I could get a kiss before, you know, the big day.”

Steve stops and says, “You want to kiss me before the wedding?”

“No, I mean yes, but I want to kiss you for good luck before the party. I want something to hold on, to bolster me up.” Tony says and strolls over to Steve. “Come on, one kiss, what harm can it do?”

And Steve feels dirty and gross, but not because of Tony, but because of his own actions. He sits on men’s laps and pretends not to feel their erection through the towel as he gyrates and mimes getting fucked by them. When Tony witnesses it, when he’s the center of attention at the party, Tony will comprehend what a shallow, horrible person Steve actually is.

“Steve?” Tony snaps his fingers in front of his face. “Wow, you are distracted today.”

“Just a lot on my mind,” Steve says and crosses the room to the ancient computer and printer. “Maybe you shouldn’t stick around. I have to do through the paper work Andi sent me about the finances.”

“You want me to help out?” Tony says and grabs for the papers Steve scooped up. He keeps them out of Tony’s reach. 

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Steve says and tucks the papers – which happen to be the dance routine – in the file drawer under the table. “I can do it myself.”

“But you don’t have to,” Tony says.

“Well, I can, so why don’t you go,” Steve starts.

“Not before I get my kiss,” Tony says and opens his arms and it is so inviting, so perfect that Steve has no recourse other than to follow Tony’s guidance. He intends to do this in a simple way, a quick farewell kiss, but he fails utterly, because Tony is addictive. His kiss, his touch warms and encompasses him, shadows him as if to veil him from the onslaught of danger. He loves the feel of Tony in his arms, he wants to hold him, protect him, be everything that Tony wants him to be. But he can’t because he’s a lie.

He tries to forget himself within the envelope of the kiss. He focuses only on the feel of it, the heat of it, the needs growing and rising within him. But he fails and he feels all the more bereft for it. In little order, he pushes Tony away, although he tries to do it as gently as possible, there’s still confusion and even hurt on Tony’s face.

Steve cannot do this to him, cannot have him see Steve as the honest, boy next door, when he’s anything but. “No.” Yet no other words come out. He stutters and stumbles over them, Rejecting Tony is the hardest thing he’s done in a long time. He knows he will hurt him.

“I think you should go,” Steve manages to say and it’s not what he wants to say at all. What he wants to say, what he needs to say is –

_I screwed up, I screwed up. I can’t tell you what I really do for a living because you look at me and I see myself through your eyes. I don’t want to lose that, I don’t want to lose the fact that you look at me like I’m something more than this body._

_You look at me like you’d love me even if I was that ninety pound weakling again._

He wants to say it, but he fails, and Tony’s blinking in front of him, off balance and searching for an answer.

“Go, you better, go,” Steve says and turns away.

“Steve, tell me what’s going on? What’s happening?”

Steve only bows his head and, over his shoulder, he says, “Just leave, you’ll get it soon.”

“Steve, I deserve to know what’s happening, why are you doing this?” Tony says and Steve can hear the plea in his voice, the desperation of a man who doesn’t understand rejection.

“Maybe I’m not who you think I am,” Steve says and lets it weigh in the air to allow Tony to make his own conclusions.

And it works.

“You are not going to tell me that you’re just trying to con me out of money,” Tony says. “I do not accept that. This isn’t a set up. I walked in here.”

Steve latches onto Tony’s assumption because it’s so much easier than the truth. “Doesn’t matter, I saw the mark, I went for it. Everyone knows Tony Stark.”

“This doesn’t add up, Steve, I’m not that stupid,” Tony says and Steve can see the gears switching and moving in Tony’s head. If he tries to put it all together there are going to be holes wide enough to drive a tank through.

He needs to face this, to tell Tony. But when he looks at Tony, he cannot. He could just as soon break Tony’s heart as shatter his little girl’s heart. “Tony, please don’t make me do this.”

“Do what? Steve, seriously, you’re starting to scare me now.”

“Some things aren’t meant to be,” Steve settles for those words because the rest of the truth get jumbled up, knotted and clogged in his throat.

“I thought we got over this,” Tony says. “Steve, I told you Ty isn’t who I thought he was. He never will be. I can’t be with him because of that. Right now, I’m biding my time. I told you that. He’s a liar and a cheat, and maybe even a felon because he might have been involved in my abduction and attempted murder. I can’t be with someone who is not who he says he is.”

It spikes through him as if Tony’s laid waste to him on the battlefield. Even his injuries during the war didn’t hurt as much.

He gets past Tony and goes to the door. Opening it, he says, “And that’s precisely why I have to end this. Goodbye, Tony.”

Tony stalls, tries to find the right words, and then gathers up his supplies. “Steve.”

“Go,” Steve says and doesn’t meet his gaze.

Hanging in the precipice of the doorway, Tony studies him. “At least tell me why, I deserve that much.”

“You’ll find out soon enough, go.” Steve says and, as Tony walks out of the door, Steve feels all the more the coward. He hates himself for it.


	16. Chapter 16

One of the things that Tony learned over the years happens to be avoidance. He knows it because it is familiar and comfortable to him. He’s done it for years. He learned as a child to ignore his pain and feelings of rejection when Howard belittled him or took to the bottle because it was easier than loving his son. 

Seeing Steve in such a state of discomfiture reminds Tony of those long days of his youth and early adulthood, when he tried his best to satisfy a man who would never be happy, because he’d failed himself and blamed it all on his son as an easy target. Tony recognizes Steve trying to avoid his issues, whatever that issue might be. When he first leaves the art class, Tony’s understandably upset and thrown as if someone catapulted him like a discus across a field. He lands but not softly. He’s angry and pissed and wants to go back to the art school and yell in Steve’s face, asking him what the hell is his problem? But when he does go back, the place is locked up tight and even the windows upstairs are darkened. Tony takes it as a sign and leaves.

But he’s not leaving, not truly. Something is wrong. The next day during more festivities of his upcoming non-nuptials, he calls up Andi, the financial guru he’d contacted for Steve. While Andi won’t give out any details of her conversation with Steve, she does inform Tony that Steve is in dire straits and did question selling the art school to make ends meet.

“He has a job at a club,” Tony says.

“It doesn’t pay much, I think he said it’s more about the tips than the salary,” Andi says and Tony frowns. Since when is a bouncer tipped? 

He shrugs it off; it isn’t as if he understands the world of service – he’s never been there. Tony has always lived on a level that walks on clouds and can’t touch the ground. 

“So he wants to sell the place?”

“It’s an option, but he has difficulties there since the loan company that holds the mortgage has right of first refusal.”

Tony whistles. “Wow, he got sucker punched, didn’t he?” 

“Yes, not good. I’m working on some ways to mitigate his losses, but truthfully, Mister Stark, I don’t see how he’s going to pull it off unless he has a rich uncle drop over dead and will him the money.”

After that conversation, Tony weighs if he should approach Steve about buying him out, or lending him money. He’s conflicted about it because Ty insisted that’s what Steve intended all along. He doesn’t want to prove Ty right. 

Ty is another story over the next days as they prepare to go to the Hamptons for the big shindig. He disappears for hours at a time, not to be found at the offices or in the Tower. Tony tries to ignore it, but it becomes impossible when paparazzi catch Ty at a bar with several women on his arms. The press is not kind. Stane senior comes home and forces Ty to stay put in the penthouse, leaving Tony no other recourse but to spend most of his time in his workshop. 

“You know, Tony, some may say that you’re sulking down here,” Obie says when he comes in and interrupts Tony’s solitude. 

“Not sure what you’re talking about Obie,” Tony says through clenched teeth. He’s working on upgrades to the articulation system in the prosthetic arm. While the one Bucky happens to be wearing is excellent, there’s some glitches that cause issues when there’s long term use for delicate movements. 

“You know, Ty was just playing around,” Obie says. He has his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and Tony wonders if perhaps his fingering a knife, all shiny and ready to stab Tony in the throat. 

“Yeah, sure,” Tony says and punches in some more of the data into his program to analyze the joint. 

“Come on, Tony, talk to me.”

Looking up, he shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re looking for Obie. Ty fucks around. We both know it. He’s been doing hookers all this time.”

Stane’s gaze darkens and he says, “Maybe if you were a little more available he wouldn’t have to fuck around as you say.” 

Tony doesn’t respond to the bait, refuses to comment.

Sighing, as if Tony is a large cross Stane has to bear, Obie says, “Listen, Tony, I need you to work this out with Ty. You’re getting married, and you’re going to stay married. The board of Directors doesn’t like it when you rock the boat.”

“No, I suppose they don’t,” Tony says, but he doesn’t say it’s because Stane’s stacked the board with his own cronies. He relents, but only a tiny bit. “Don’t worry about it, Obie. I’m just finishing up some of my work here for the R and D department.”

Obie practically growls at him. “Just remember that this little hobby of yours might not go over well with the board either.”

Stalking out of the workshop, Obie leaves him. It’s ridiculous that Tony finds his blood heated to boiling when he thinks about the two Stanes. How long has he been played by them? Only a few more days and he’ll expose the whole lot of them. Then the board of Directors will be next and he’ll have his company back. 

He’s able to avoid any type of intimacy with Ty over the course of the next few days prior to the big party at the Hamptons because he feigns the hurt fiancé. Reluctantly, Ty agrees to sit with Tony and watch Doctor Who episodes at night (Tony knows the man hates the Doctor and it’s all the more rewarding to force him to do this as a penance). 

When Tony can get away he spends his time either in the workshop or trying to touch base with Steve. At one point he’s able to get him on the phone.

“Steve, you have to help me out here.”

“I just – I think we need to cool it. Did you see the big stink in the papers about your fiancé?”

“Of course, I did,” Tony says. In actuality, he never really saw them. JARVIS informed Tony all about the exploits of his fiancé spread over the different media types. 

“I don’t think you should be calling me,” Steve replies and there’s a sadness in his voice tipping off Tony that it’s more than just trying to ensure there isn’t a scandal. 

“Steve, what is it? What’s going on?” Tony asks as he bites at his nails.

“Good-bye, Tony,” Steve says and, before Tony can stop him, the line disconnects.

“God damn it.” He almost tries to connect with Steve again, but decides right now might not be the time. Instead, he starts to randomly text Steve – giving him a blow by blow account of his day, his meals, anything to keep connected.

Steve doesn’t answer.

The intense anxiety causes Tony to seek out Bruce for advice. Both Bruce and Rhodey are joining the party in the Hamptons and they all meet up at the Tower. It isn’t a long ride and he using a car chauffeured by Happy, telling Ty they should go separately. Obie complains, but Tony waves him aside, telling him it will be the perfect way to handle the press. The paparazzi will continually question the final nuptials.

“Seriously, Obie, they’ll be all a twitter over whether or not we’re going through with it,” Tony says.

“And how is that a good thing?” Obie replies over the phone.

“Easy, we’re kept in the news. When we do walk down the aisle and we give our vows, we’ll record it and leak the footage. It’ll jump start the stock. Everything will be great.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Who showboats better, me or you, Obie?”

Obie is silent.

“See, told you,” Tony says and then adds, “See you in the Hamptons.”

He doesn’t give Obie a chance to answer, shutting the line and turning to Bruce and Rhodey. “He’s a dick.”

“That’s your future father in law,” Bruce says as Tony knocks on the window between the driver and the back of the limo.

The shield lowers to reveal Happy. “Yeah boss?”

“Let’s go.”

The limo pulls out of the parking spot in the garage of the Tower as Tony puts the screen back in place. “He’s not my future father in law, let’s get that straight right away.”

“This again?” Bruce says and looks between Rhodes and Tony. “Do you know about this?”

“I’d like to,” Rhodey turns to Tony. “Well?”

Tony lays it all out for them, the treasonous actions of both Stanes, the attempted murder after his abduction, what Pepper heard and then explains the plan to get to Obie’s laptop, the evidence has to be there – if anywhere. “That man walks around with that thing like it’s his blankie or something.”

“Are you sure about this?” Rhodey asks.

“Yes, absolutely. Have you heard of SHIELD?” 

The mention of the name of the organization causes Rhodey’s back to straighten and his expression to transform into high alert. “SHIELD, seriously? Then this is some serious shit, Tony. Why?”

“He’s selling weapons to the enemy and I think a lot more,” Tony says. “We have to get the data on the laptop.” Tony pulls out small thumb drives. “It looks like a thumb drive but it’s not. It’s a mini-tablet, computer. It holds a link to JARVIS. With it one of us just has to plug it into his laptop and then download the whole thing into JARVIS’ servers.”

“Everything? On this?” Bruce says as he straightens his glasses.

“Everything, it’s a conduit, it will link up with JARVIS and we’ll get what we need.”

“We?” Bruce asks in a weak voice.

“Yes, we- you’re my wing man right?” Tony says and slaps Bruce on the leg.

“I thought he was your best man,” Bruce points at Rhodey. 

“Shit, forget that, we’re on a mission here,” Tony says and smiles. “What? Oh, and by the way I might need some meds or for you to restart my heart or something. You brought your kit, the doctor kit, didn’t you?”

“What?” Bruce says. “Are you sick?”

“Anxious, very anxious. I think the guy I love might be dumping me.”

Rhodey jumps in, “I thought it would be you dumping Ty after this?”

“Ty is not the man I love,” Tony says and then continues with a long and wonderful description of Steve. 

“Wow, you got it bad,” Bruce says. “But he’s not talking to you?”

“Nope, can’t figure out what I did wrong. But-I – I gotta focus down on the plan here. Right? I shouldn’t do a rush to his side and tell him how I love him, right? I have to-.”

“Stick with the plan,” Rhodey says.

“Okay, okay, stick with it,” Tony says. “Now we need to figure out a plan.”

Over the course of the drive to the resort and getaway, they hash out the best ideas and strategy to get to Obie’s laptop. There’s three of them and they can work that to their advantage. Rhodey knows enough about secret operations to lend a few pointers along the way. 

When they arrive, Tony’s jittery and Bruce keeps telling him to calm down, his heart really can’t take it. “The party’s tonight, we got to get that info. I am not staying here with him.”

Bruce mutters, “Would have been nice if you told us earlier, you know. I have a reservation here.”

Tony scowls at him.

Bruce pats his shoulder as Happy unloads the limo of their luggage. In the parking lot a number of cars and limos have already arrived as well. Hammer and Vanko sidle up to them. 

“Hey, Tones, you’re here. Heart all broken into pieces ‘cause Ty had to get his sausage whacked in a pussy a few times before the big day?”

Tony frowns and avoids Hammer’s gropes. “Not exactly.”

“Well, this party is the party to end all parties. We got one of the best clubs for the entertainment,” Hammer says, and he indicates Vanko. “Go on tell him.”

“My sweet bird will be here. You no touch bird, he’s all mine.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Tony says and leans away from the man. Seriously, his breath might be reminiscent of bird carcasses. 

With Bruce and Rhodey in tow, Happy and Tony head toward their rooms. Tony’s not even sure what might be in his suitcase, especially since he has no intentions of staying past getting the data from Obie. Behind him, he can hear Hammer yelling to him, telling him about the fabulous fags he has lined up.

It pisses him off, and Bruce puts a warning hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Let it ride, Tony. Just let it ride.”

“People like him make my skin crawl,” Rhodey says and shivers. “Homophobic bastard.”

The resort is laid out in small Cape Cod like cottages that all interconnect with enclosed breeze ways. It’s charming and on the edge of the Sound, so he can hear the crash of waves and smell the ocean. Birds swoop and call as they walk toward the cottages, and one of the resort attendants escorts them to the cottages they are assigned to. 

As their escort shows them to their rooms, Tony leans into the man and asks, “Can you tell me which room is Obadiah’s?” 

“Sir?” 

“He’s my future father in law, I have a little prank I want to play on him,” Tony says and stuffs a few hundreds in the man’s vest pocket.

“Of course, sir.” He smiles. “It’s 703.”

“Thanks.” 

“If there’s anything else?”

Rhodey nods to him, and Tony clears his throat. With a raised eyebrow, Tony wraps his arm around the thin rail man and says, “Listen, I need old Obie out of the room for a few minutes before the party starts. You think you could call him down to the kitchens or something? Make sure he goes and no one else. Don’t let him bring anything with him?”

“Nothing with him?” The man eyes Tony.

Another wad of bills appears and disappears as easily when the attendant agrees. The attendant brings them to their group of cottages and then excuses himself. 

Once they are at their room Tony deflates into the chair in the wide open space of the living room slash bedroom area of his cottage. “God, I can’t wait until this is over.”

“Soon,” Rhodey says. “I’m going to scout out where 703 is from here.”

“Look at you, going all commando on me,” Tony smiles and the exhaustion from the stress beats down on him.

“In a bit,” Rhodey says and exits the cottage.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to check you over?” Bruce asks as he digs through his bags for his medical equipment.

“I think-.” And then his phone chirps and Tony pulls it out to read the message. From Steve. “Finally.” He holds up a hand to stall Bruce. “Let me-, what?”

_Tony Im sorry. Im not who you think I am_

That’s all the message says and he’s already pressing the connect to try and talk with Steve. 

“Tony, please,” Steve says as he answers.

“What’s going on? Did you talk to Stane or something?”

“No, I want you to know, I’m sorry. Okay? I really am.”

“I don’t know what’s going on?” Bruce is studying him. He stands up and goes to the corner near the box window. He sits down with his back to Bruce. “What’s happening, Steve?”

A long drawn in breath and then Steve says, “I wanted to tell you, I really did. But you think I’m something I’m not. Like some great American hero. I’m not. I’m just Steve Rogers. And you do what you have to do to make ends meet, you know?”

“Did someone put you up to this? What? Steve did you take money? Money from Obie?” 

Even though the bright sunshine filters in through the large window, the blues and grays from the ocean beyond it funnel into a dark pinpoint. 

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

Before Tony can say anything more, the phone disconnects and he’s left staring at his smartphone, open and empty inside. 

“Hey.”

He looks up at Bruce and shakes his head. “I think I need to be alone.” 

Bruce hesitates but listens. He stops at the door to the cottage. “I’m just next door.”

Tony doesn’t respond. All he can conclude is that somehow Obie knows, he set the whole thing up. Steve must be working with Stane, must be part of the whole thing. How or why, he doesn’t know. He can’t figure it out. 

Over the course of the next hour he tries to figure out exactly what and how Steve stepped into his life. It must be Natasha who set the whole thing up, but then how does that figure with the SHIELD agency. Rhodey confirmed they are the real deal. Maybe Obie got to Steve after they met, maybe he offered Steve money to get out of the bind he’s in. 

He picks up his phone and tries to call Steve several more times, but he doesn’t get an answer. There’s a knock on the door and Rhodes strides without waiting for an answer. 

“Okay, I got it. It should be pretty easy to get in and out.”

Tony doesn’t answer.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Seems I’ve been played,” Tony says and doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t know how or why yet but he’s going to figure it out. “Let’s get the party started.” 

If there’s one night Tony shouldn’t fall of the wagon it’s tonight. The guests start to arrive and Tony gets dressed in a pair of jeans and dark t-shirt with a jacket. Obie doesn’t approve but Tony doesn’t give a crap. The large recreation cottage has been decked out with tables, chairs, a stage and a banquet. If Tony didn’t hate Hammer so much he’d actually compliment him on how well everything’s set up. 

He loiters around the perimeter as friends and business associates start to arrive. Reed Richards, Aldrich Killian, and a long list of some of Tony’s best friends and his worst enemies. Rhodes and Bruce flank him as does Happy, albeit from a distance. Ty appears and shuffles over to Tony in time as the press helicopters hover. He swoops in and plants a long and filthy kiss on Tony. For the press Tony grabs Ty’s face and returns the favor. The whole crowd cheers and shouts as they move it indoors to the rec area. 

The party swings into full throttle fast enough. Drinks overflow and appetizers are spread out over the banquet tables. There are four corners of food stations, each with different types of food from hot to cold to spicy to exotic. There are two main bars and immediately, Ty directs them toward one and hands Tony a glass of wine. He tries to beg off but Ty insists.

He nurses it for a while until he’s able to plop it on a tray of a passing waiter. Right now, he needs his wits about him until he can get into Obie’s room. Slipping the wandering hands of Ty is Tony’s main focus. The man is all over him, hanging on him, smooching and making comments constantly while people they know will go to the press with information are close by.

Tony tolerates it all until it’s midway through the evening and he needs to escape to get the information. Rhodey and Bruce check the scene. Bruce disrupts Obie and Ty from following; he’s like a crazed monster on them. Neither Obie or Ty can escape him when he’s in one of his liberal rants about fracking. It allows Tony to rush out the back of the rec building with Rhodey.

“You sure you can do this?”

Tony waves him off. “No problem.”

“We have to get back, the entertainment starting in less than fifteen minutes. If you’re nowhere to be found, it won’t look good,” Rhodey says.

“Got it,” Tony replies and they follow the winding trail along the dunes to the ocean toward the designated cottage. Once there, Tony waits as Rhodey plays with the lock. 

“You couldn’t slip the hotel guy another hundred for a keycard?”

“I figured you had to have an assignment. This is it.”

“Geez, thanks,” Rhodey says, but in short order he pulls out a gizmo from his jacket and places it alongside the door lock. It clicks and the lock opens.

“Never doubted you, pal.” Tony enters the darkened room and, sitting right on the table near the bed is the laptop. “Okay, here we go. Keep watch?”

“Whatever you say,” Rhodey replies and hangs by the door. 

Booting up the computer, Tony stabs the device into the USB port and then pulls out his communications earpiece to contact JARVIS. “J man, you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The computer’s booting. I need you to download and access for any data on my abduction, attempted murder, and weapons deals.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Rhodey watches his back, Tony goes through the laptop. Screening different files, instructing JARVIS what to pick, and what to corrupt as he goes. He’s not going to leave his files for his company on this damned computer without doing something about it. There’s a status bar and he’s ticking down the time. If he’s away from the party for too long someone is going to notice. 

“Hurry it up, Tony, I can see the dancers coming out of their staging area,” Rhodey whispers.

“A little longer, just a little longer.”

Over the whirl of the computer he can hear the distant sounds of a microphone being tested and Hammer starting to try and warm up the crowd. There are catcalls and hoots and howls as he watches JARVIS shift through the screens, clearing, copying, and corrupting where necessary.

“You got it yet?”

“JARVIS?”

“Almost, sir.”

“Tony, I can see Stane. He’s just walked out of the party. He looks like he’s searching for you.” Rhodes knocks on the wall. “We gotta go.”

“Okay, okay,” Tony says. “JARVIS tell me you got enough.”

“I have enough, sir.”

He pulls it free as he shuts down the computer. Hustling over to Rhodey, they leave the room locked and Tony slings an arm around Rhodey – acting as drunk as he can as they hurry back to the party. Rhodey takes up the mantel of pretending Tony is half assed drunk. As they round the corner to the party, Tony glimpses the tail end of the dancers as they make their way toward the main room. 

It’s twilight and details are difficult to discriminate. He’s sure that Hammer hired a bunch of low budget dancers, but from what he can make out the costumes – military – all look authentic and the dancers – from a distance – look surprisingly gorgeous. He notices one and bolts upright as he does. The glint of blonde hair, the width of the shoulders – it’s too familiar. The distance between them obscure the features.

“What the hell?”

“So, Tony, you’re having a little too much of a good time?” Obie says as he meets them near the door to go back into the party.

He snickers at Obie, remembering he’s pretending to be a drunk. “Oh what do you think, dear Obie?” 

“Let’s bring him inside, Justin has a surprise.”

Rhodey, Bruce, and Tony settle down at the table with Ty off to the side with Vanko and Justin. The MC announces the shows about to begin. She’s a tall woman with dark hair and a leather cat suit on. She looks like she could as soon kill him as fuck him to death. 

“Welcome to the party of the year.”

There are hollers and screams along with a few indecent proposals yelled from the crowd. 

“Without further delay, I bring to you a salute to our boys on the front lines. This is a new routine, we call it the Captain and his Howling Commandos.”

The lights drop and then the stage lights up.

And everything changes for Tony.


	17. Chapter 17

Steve hates himself. He cannot clear his brain of the thoughts, he keeps going back over it. He’s a horrible person; he led Tony along as if he dangled a carrot in front of him for weeks on end. He made promises, he kissed and touched. Over the next few days he conveniently turns his phone’s sound off as well as the vibration mode. He does not want to see how many times Tony texts or calls. In the rare occasion he looks, he cringes at the answers to it.

The worst part is – he misses Tony. 

In quiet moments, he takes out his phone and scrolls through the messages, aching to answer them. In one horrible weak episode, he even called Tony with the intention of explaining everything. But he failed because the thought of Tony thinking so little of him hurt too much. He ended the conversation and settled on the fact that Tony was going to find out in only a few hours anyhow. 

As they arrive at the Hamptons, everyone has to chip in to unload the van. Thor drove in a separate car because Maria – true to her word- promised to get Steve home even in the wee hours of the night after the performance is over. It’s really the only way Steve would have agreed to the party, especially now with Tony being present. Steve will need to escape. 

He shrinks in on himself – he used to be a warrior, a courageous man. What happened to him? He should stand up for himself, but the idea of Tony being disappointed stabs him deeply and he bleeds anytime he considers it. He distracts the thoughts pinging about in his brain by helping unload the van, setting up the backstage in a locker room where they need to do the wardrobe changes.

Before the call to start, he finds a bathroom and hides away in it. His tortured lungs squeeze shut and his rescue inhaler’s a joke. It’s Sam and Clint who find him, sitting on the floor of the bathroom struggling for breath.

Clint squats down next to him and places a hand on his chest, telling him to follow the breathing pattern, “Come on, quiet it down.”

Steve hitches but nothing – no air comes into his lungs. Any minute, Tony is going to see him as a stripper, and the disillusionment on his face will forever be ingrained in Steve’s memory.

He’s still struggling for breath when Sam holds the phone to his ear and he hears, “Daddy? Daddy, are you okay?”

He rasps out a garbled yes and doesn’t know whether or not to hate Sam for calling his daughter but then Bucky gets on the line. “Hey, punk, what’s going on? You got stage fright or something.”

The casual way Bucky says it brings laughter and more hitching but then his breathing evens out and Clint’s helping him to his feet while Sam’s thanking Bucky and Emma over the phone. Once he hangs up, Sam turns him and says, “You got this man, because none of this routine is going to go over without you at the helm.”

“I got it,” Steve says and blinks his eyes a few times. 

“Come on, then we have to go to the van and pull out the rest of the gear.”

Steve follows Clint, trying not to freak out over the fact that in less than thirty minutes Tony will know his dirty secret. They finish up the final preparations and then concentrate on the wardrobe. He’s dressed as the Captain and Hill’s added the name of the Howling Commandos to the rest of the cast. He puts on the uniform over the more exotic outfit and readies the shoes to turn into pumps.

“You got this?” Clint asks as Loki and Pietro laugh in the corner.

“I got it,” Steve says.

“Well, do it like you mean it, okay?”

Steve nods and then the lights drop and it’s show time. In that moment, in the dark and when there’s only the spurious cough from the audience as the music starts, Steve rights his shoulders and decides to give it everything he has – because he’s not a quitter. He has nothing to feel ashamed about; he started dancing to feed his daughter and he would do it all over again – a thousand times. Even at the expense of losing Tony.

They march out on stage and the audience – the men at their tables cannot see them yet. They are shadows. The music beats and then the lights flare and the dance begins. He cannot spot Tony in the spectators because of the hot bright lights overhead and lining the stage. He follows the routine with a heated finesse he’s never felt before. The idea that Tony’s seeing him, truly seeing him in the raw for the first time somehow doesn’t embarrass him as much as it throws him into the dance. He wants to make this good, he wants to show Tony what he’s losing.

And he becomes the stripper with an abandon he’s never felt and he works it with the others. Clint and Loki fighting as they play through the scene, Peitro racing through acrobatics as the dance increases in speed. Sam flies through the steps and then everyone tears at the fabric of their uniforms, shedding them and tossing them aside.

The audience screams and hoots as they continue. They go through several routines. They’re in perfect sync as they dip and curve around the stage until it’s time to dim the stage lights and get onto the floor. They’d practiced this a thousand times over and Steve’s proud of his crew, his friends. He throws himself into the dance as the lights in the audience raise and they saunter down the ramp to the men crowded about the tables. 

Some of the men aren’t interested, others are clearly embarrassed, but most are intrigued and hot, yelling at them to take it off. Steve spots Hammer immediately along with Vanko and then he turns and there’s the table, the look that he’s been dreading all this time.

Tony sits, stone faced and frozen as his fiancé calls for Steve to come over. Steve has no choice, it is part of the package and he follows the beats of the music to stand by Ty’s side. 

“Look at this patriotic bitch, Tones, don’t you want to fuck him?” Ty says and he reaches up to grab at Steve’s waist, yanking him down. “Or maybe you want to watch me fuck him, huh? That more your style?”

Ty pats his lap and urges Steve to settle down. He has no choice and he tries not to register that Tony’s not reacting, that he’s cold and distant. He fears that reaction – that non-reaction – more than one of disgust and repulsion. The indifference spears into Steve as if it’s an actual dagger. Even Tony’s eyes are dead, remote pools, unmoved and hollow.

The others are already giving the lap dances, Steve doesn’t have a choice. Ty slaps his ass again and tells him, “Get comfy hon, I want to feel up them titties you got.”

Steve sidles onto his lap. Since all of the dancers have a client to please, they go into a dance that’s choreographed. It takes a lot more skill to make something look sensual and sexy when crouched over someone with a hard-on. He works it, keeping his eyes unfocused as he moves through the gyrations. 

Parties like these are notorious for how far the dancers will go. While Maria doesn’t run a brothel, she encouraged them to make the most of their dances to ensure a healthy tip. This is the last time he’s dancing, he knows that – although he hasn’t quite admitted it to himself. So he throws himself into it. He tries not to think about Tony, watching him, judging him as his fiancé feels up his ass. Ty pinches him and then moves up to feel his pectorals. 

“God damn, you got some fine tits,” Ty says and buries his face in Steve’s chest. He forces himself not to grimace and cups his arm around Ty’s head, trying to gracefully pull him away. 

Ty comes away willingly enough as the music throbs to a new beat. “God, Tones, you gotta feel this guy.” Abruptly he stands up and catapults Steve over to Tony, right onto his lap. He falls – all limbs over Tony’s lap and suddenly he’s face to face with him. 

“Get up, get up, dance,” Ty says and raises a glass as Vanko and Hammer laugh and clap. There are two other men at the table who Steve doesn’t recognize. “Dance! You cock-slut, dance.”

Steve moves, slowly, like he’s in viscous liquid and his arms and legs are too heavy. He can’t even hear the music anymore, he can’t see anyone else. He can smell Tony, the fragrance of wood and metal mixes. Somehow as he tries to get situated on Tony’s lap, he feels the spark of electricity, the smell of ozone about it. 

“You got my bird, my sweet bird. After he do you, he going to sit with me the rest of the night,” Vanko says. He’s standing next to Tony, hulking over him. 

Steve tries not to cringe, and only focus on his dance on Tony’s lap but that’s when Tony decides to thaw, decides to move and he shoves Steve off of his lap as he stands. “That’s okay, Vanko, he’s all yours. Did you say he was yours first anyhow?”

Vanko moves in and grabs Steve by the ass, shoving his thick fingers into Steve’s cleft as he fumbles for a chair. “What you say, Sweet bird, you mine?”

Steve shakes his head and turns to face Tony. “I don’t-I dance that’s all.” He can’t find words because he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to make it right. 

“I want to fuck the sweet bird, I want to come on his face.”

The music continues and the din of it and the lights strobe about them, picking up the beat –it causes the whole thing to feel like some delusional dream, or feared nightmare. Steve tries to get away from Vanko, attempts to go after Tony to no avail.

Maria must have called out the few chorus girls she hired for the occasion. They come out on the floor and a good section of the audience begins to holler and whistle. 

Tony’s nowhere in his sights as he tries to get through the rest of the dance for Vanko, but it’s awkward and he’s distracted. Vanko keeps sliding his fingers along Steve’s outfit, tucking into his ass and shoving his grimy face at Steve’s chest. It roils Steve and he fights not to succumb to nausea. Allowing the man to touch him and feel him up is more than he can bear.

Thankfully, the music ends and each of the dancers get free of their client. Vanko grasps his wrist and shoves Steve’s hand in his groin, forcing Steve to feel his erection. He snaps his hand away as Vanko purses his lips and smacks them at Steve. 

“Soon bird, I get you, soon.”

“I don’t think so, sir,” Steve replies and Maria announces that the next dance – the one where they will actually get down to their g-strings – will begin in forty minutes. With the rest of the dancers, Steve waves and leaves the main recreation room to the small locker rooms they are using as a back stage. 

Tony is there.

Of course, Tony is there, waiting for him. Steve peers at the rest of his friends and they nod, shuffling off to the other room. He doesn’t know what they must conclude, but Sam and Clint have his back. 

“I dance,” Steve says.

“I kind of got that one. Leave it to the genius to figure that out while you’re stripping and lap fucking my fiancé.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” Tony says and his eyes are hard. “It’s not. Thanks for the heads up, by the way. It was nice to know that you cared enough about me to warn me.”

Steve sinks down to the bench. The rooms they are using are the locker room for the tennis courts out back. “I tried, Tony, I wanted to tell you. I did.”

“So you strip?”

“Yes.”

“Do lap dances?”

“On occasion, yes.”

“You said you were a bouncer.”

“You concluded I was a bouncer and I didn’t correct you,” Steve says.

Tony smirks. “That’s rich, that’s perfect. The boy next door knows how to obfuscate.”

“I really didn’t. I just didn’t-.”

Tony puts up his hands and says, “Yeah I get it, you didn’t correct me, and that’s supposed to make it better?”

“No, I suppose not,” Steve says. He needs to throw out some defense, some argument to help his position. But he can’t because it’s all true. He shrugs. “It’s all true, I dance and I didn’t tell you. I do it for the money-.”

“What else do you do for money? Could I have thrown a few bucks your way to get a taste of that?”

He feels the heat come to his face – shame and anger mixed. “No, I don’t do that,” he says through gritted teeth. He wants to stand up and fight, to yell and scream and tell Tony that not everyone is born with a silver spoon in their mouths. But he doesn’t because he’s responsible for that look on Tony’s face, that betrayal and hurt. “I only dance.”

“Only dance,” Tony says and there’s resignation in his tone. “Right.”

“I swear, Tony, that’s all I do,” Steve says and then the hurt he feels drops down into his gut and churns until it’s boiling with anger. “I have a little girl to feed and a mortgage-.”

“I gave you a financial advisor to help you out.”

“Ha,” Steve laughs and stands up. “Like I need an advisor, for what? I don’t have any funds, I don’t have anything but debt. That’s all I have. I don’t have a savings account, not a real one that has anything more in it that a few bucks. Some of us are from the other side of the tracks, Tony, some of us have to scrape by.”

“You could have asked, you didn’t need to lower your-.”

“No,” Steve says. “This is an honest living. I make a good paycheck and, on good nights, I make good tips. I don’t want a hand out. Not all poor people are looking for big daddy to come by and drop money in our laps-.”

“But you’ll sit in my lap and dance for it, huh?”

Standing, Steve straightens his shoulders and says, “Yeah, Stark, I would because I get paid to do that. You might think less of me, you might think I’m nothing but dirt now, but what I do I do honestly. I’m not ashamed of it.”

“So why then didn’t you tell me?” Tony bites back.

“Because I knew you would have this reaction, you’re too easy to read. I know guys who work in this profession who are worth ten of you.”

“Oh yeah, everything special about you comes from that body. You’re nothing, Rogers, nothing.”

Before Steve can retort, Tony stalks off. He stays there, he doesn’t run after him, doesn’t beg him to talk. What’s done is done. He might not have meant it all, but it holds true. Tony thought less of him because he works in the sex industry, because he sells his looks for a paycheck. He might spout and brag about not being ashamed, but he knows that’s just a fabrication. He drops to the bench again and puts his head in his hands.

“Hey, you gonna be okay?” 

It’s Sam. Steve glances up at him and nods. “Yeah, just reality smacking me in the face.”

“Yeah, it’s a kicker when she comes a-calling. Maria said to get something to eat, we’re on in 15 and it’s the longer set.”

Steve nods but doesn’t partake in any of the food they have set out for the dancers. He stays in the locker room and waits until the next set. He’s determined to show that he isn’t abashed by his profession to Tony. But when they dance the next two routines and then work the floor, Tony isn’t anywhere to be found. The two men that were at the table before are gone as well. Ty is still there, and in the back of Steve’s mind he wonders if Tony found the evidence he needs. He guesses he’ll find out in the news with the rest of the world. 

For Steve the rest of the dances are just that – dances – uninspired and thankless. He works through them because he has to, not because he wants to prove anything or because he might enjoy the workout. He does what he has to do. When they start to work the floor, he only wants to leave. But he promised and he needs to do what he vowed to do for the rest of his team. 

Vanko is especially troublesome, but Steve gets through giving another lap dance and he disengages to leave. Several of his team members are still working the floor, getting extra tips and, while he could use the money, he finds no joy in it. He slips out the door, heading toward the locker room in only a g-string and pumps. He can get out now, he did what he promised and Thor is supposed to drive him home before daybreak.

Once in the locker room, he pulls out his duffel bag and takes off the g-string. Pulling on his boxers and t-shirt, Steve is startled by the door opening behind him and the voice.

“Sweet bird?”

He twists around and rolls his eyes. “Sir, you’re not allowed back here.”

“Here is not club, I allowed anywhere,” Vanko says in his broken English. He advances on Steve. What he thinks he can actually get away with is a mystery. Steve’s a big guy with muscles and he’s army trained. 

“I suggest you go back to your table and the party, sir.”

“I get what I pay for, I pay for sweet bird. I want to fuck your face.” He’s faster than Steve would have given him credit for. He rushes Steve and whips around an arm to crush Steve into the lockers. His hot breath over Steve and he’s pressing his body against him.

“Not today,” Steve says and knees the fucker in the balls. Vanko bends over and cups his groin, cursing at Steve. “I think you need to go back to your table.”

Snarling, Vanko launches at Steve and grasps at his throat, but Steve easily knocks him away. He clatters to the floor, upending benches as he falls. “I get you, bird. You get fucked by me you never want anyone else.”

“Sorry, I don’t think that’s in my plans for tonight.” Steve turns around, hoping the man will get the hint, but he doesn’t and barrels at Steve again. Elbowing him once in the stomach, Steve’s able to get him off balance for a second, but not long enough. Vanko lashes back with a ring ladened fist to Steve’s cheek and eye. He feels something give and blood spurts out of his mouth. 

“Damn it,” Steve says and staggers back into the lockers. Without a thought, he does a double kick, one to throw Vanko off and the second to send him flying. Vanko crashes into the line of lockers perpendicular to the benches. 

As he scrambles to his feet, the door swings open and Thor enters. “I heard a noise.”

Wiping the blood from his eye and face, Steve nods to Vanko as he grapples to his face. “Get him out of here.”

“Do you need assistance, Steven?”

Steve only shakes his head as Thor gathers up Vanko and shoves him out of the locker room. Thor must report the incident to Maria because she appears with Clint and Loki trailing her. 

“Jesus, Steve,” Maria says and reaches out to examine his battered face. “I’ll ban him from the club.”

“A little too late for that,” Clint says.

“I will retrieve the first aid kit, Captain,” Loki says with a wink.

“Thanks,” Steve replies and digs through his duffel. “I just want to go home.” His words are muffles by the swelling that’s already happening. Clint disappears as he dresses and Maria talks.

“I’m sorry, Steve, this hasn’t been a great night.”

“No, not at all,” Steve says, and his head is starting to pound along with the throbbing beat of his face. He tugs on his jeans and hoodie. 

“I’ll get Thor to drive you home. I think I’m going to have everyone else pack up and move out. We’re not stayin-.”

“You don’t have to do that for me,” Steve says. 

“We’ve been paid, we’re not staying,” Maria says as Loki returns with the kit. He gestures for Steve to sit on the bench after Maria rights it. 

Settling down, he asks as Loki pokes at his cheek, “You know what you’re doing?”

“I might,” Loki answers. He’s fingers are far more gentle than Steve would have guessed. “Doesn’t feel broken, your cheekbone that is. You have some nasty tears, might want to consider getting them stitched to decrease the possibility of scarring.” He begins to dab the area with antiseptic.

“I think my teeth are loose,” Steve says and tests them with his tongue. 

“Leave it alone, it might heal after a few days. Otherwise, you might need to go to the dentist.”

“Great, another thing I can’t afford. Ouch, be careful with that,” Steve says as he backs away from Loki’s prying hands.

“Do you feel a little like Julie Roberts?” Clint asks as he hands Steve a plastic bag of ice wrapped in a cloth napkin for his cheek.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Well, I kind of had him on the ropes, and Thor’s not my knight in shining armor.”

“Thor pretends to be many things to many people. It’s shame more people don’t have your good sense,” Loki says.

Steve climbs to his feet and scoops up his bag. “Can I go now?”

Maria regards him but only nods. “I’ll send the money over tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Steve says and heads toward the door. Before he departs, he glances back at his friends. “Sorry.”

“You got nothing to be sorry for, Steve,” Clint says and gives him a half assed salute.

Steve chuckles and heads toward the parking lot. Thor joins him and they get into the SUV for the long ride home. Thankfully, Thor reads his mood and keeps the conversation to minor details. Steve does try to show more interest, but he’s lagging and tired and his face hurts. When Thor drops him off, Steve waves goodbye and doesn’t look back. What he’s going to do now, he hasn’t a clue.

For all his bravado about the profession of stripping to Tony, Steve cannot continue. He has to find something else. He only has one choice and that’s to sell the art school to Schmidt and move down the Atlanta with Emma’s grandparents. He’ll ruin his credit for a few years, that’s true, but he doesn’t know what other avenue he has anymore.

When he enters the flat, it’s nearly daylight. Bucky turns over in the dim dawn light and focuses on him. With the shadows in the flat he cannot see the bruise that must be spectacular on Steve’s left cheek.

“Hey, how’d it go?” Bucky says, and he shifts. The gears in the arm move and Steve can hear the servos.

“As good as can be expected,” Steve says and switches on the light in the kitchen to get it over with as soon as possible.

“Christ, what the hell happened?”

“Vanko, I told you about him. He was there. He got one hit in, not many others, though,” Steve says. He tosses the bag of now cold water into the sink and goes to the freezer. Finding a bag of frozen peas, he carefully places it on the side of his face and then trudges into the living room. Bucky sits up.

He rests against the couch, sitting on the floor.

“You can sit on the couch,” Bucky says.

“I saw Tony. He’s probably gonna ask you for the arm back. I’m sorry.”

“Shit, what happened?”

“Let’s just say he didn’t take too kindly to finding out about my job.” He lays his head against the seat cushions of the couch. “I think I’m gonna sell the place, Buck.”

“What? No, you can’t-.”

“I have to,” Steve says. “I can’t keep this up anymore. I’m quitting the club, I can’t make the mortgage. I’m going to sell to Schmidt and move down to Atlanta to be close to Kassie’s family.”

“What about, what about your own family?” Bucky asks and the torn sorrow in his face hurts more than he’d prepared himself.

“You can come visit. They grow peaches, or something. I don’t know. I know they have a spare room for Emma. And they said I can convert the attic for me,” Steve says. He hasn’t actually cleared it with Kassie’s family, but he’s sure they would jump at the chance. In previous conversations with them, they have always welcomed him.

“I can pitch in now, I have a job at SHIELD,” Bucky says but even Steve can hear his hesitation. Not that he would shirk at the idea of helping out, but the fear that SHIELD will not want him without the arm dangles over him like a blade. 

Steve relieves him, somewhat, when he says, “You and Nat have been dying to live together for too many years, Buck. I can’t have you put your life on hold for me. Not anymore.”

“What are you going to do in Georgia? Damn, Steve, you’re a Yankee.”

“It isn’t the Civil War, Bucky, and Emma deserves to know her heritage,” Steve says. “She deserves to know her Grandma and Grandpa.”

“She knows them.”

“You know what I mean,” Steve says and drops the bag of peas. “It’s for the best.”

After a long moment, Bucky places his hand on Steve’s shoulder and says, “Yeah. You know I’m here, right? You know I’m with you to the end of the line.”

“Yeah, Buck, thank you.” Steve knows his plans are for the best, he understands that, but why does it feel like he’s giving up?


	18. Chapter 18

He should feel victorious. Victorious. He snorts as he watches Fury and Coulson along with a number of other agents he doesn’t recognize and all looking like something out of a movie sweep into Stark Headquarters and arrest both Obie and Ty. The data Tony gathered from Obie’s computer ended up being more than enough to arrest both of them. Not only were they responsible for Tony’s abduction, torture, and the attempts on his life, but they arranged for the terrorists to do it. They also had deals with the terrorists to sell weapons as well as weapons of mass destruction to all sorts of questionable contacts. 

When Fury and Coulson show up, they bring Pepper and she stands next to Tony as they observe the circus. As Ty begs Tony to speak up for him, as Obie curses his son and damns Tony at the same time. 

“He made me do it, Tony, you gotta believe me.” Ty struggles against the agents. “I love you. Come on you have to-.”

“No, I don’t have to do anything for you, ever again.”

Ty turns, flips and becomes the ugly foul creature he’s always been underneath. “You fucker, you little fag. You know, I’m not a fucking fairy, like you. I just agreed to marry you to get you out of the way. You cocksu-.”

One of the agents, an Asian woman, slams him in the jaw. He goes out like a light and crumples to the floor.

Coulson looks at the slumped man and eyes the agent. “That’s a lot of paperwork, Agent May.”

She gives Tony a half smile and says, “It was a worth it.” They haul the man out even as he fumbles awake.

Obie only glowers at them, a quiet seething in his expression. Pepper jolts down something on a pad and smiles as Obie and Ty are led away. 

“I’ll have a statement out to the press before the evening news hour,” Pepper says.

It should make Tony happy. Things are finally falling into place in his world. “Cancel the wedding, too.”

Pepper raises an eyebrow and smiles. “Of course, Mister Stark.”

“Thank you, Ms. Potts.”

“Will that be all, Mister Stark?”

“That will be all, Ms. Potts.”

She smiles again and it’s broad and happy and it should mean everything. It does – to have her back is everything, but to be stuck in this horrible place in his head – makes it impossible to find an escape. 

The day is long and he suffers through it. The board of Directors calls for an emergency meeting. Tony’s able to take over the board that night. It isn’t hard, he has controlling interest in the company. Half the board is dismissed that night. It becomes official that Stark Industries is turning into a premiere technology advancements company. He doesn’t have to worry about the defense contracts anymore. All of the Senators out to get him have suddenly disappeared (retracted their requests for inquiries on his company) when they learned that their confidant, Stane, was in cahoots with known terrorists. They disavow having anything to do with Stane.

Tony is home free.

But he still feels like a prisoner. 

His mind keeps cycling back to the party. Even as time wears on and he should put it to rest, he cannot. He walked out on Steve, left him and judged him. Over the course of the week before the party, he’d badgered Steve to tell him what was going on. Then when he found out.

“I blew it,” Tony had said to Bruce as the limo pulled out of the parking space at the Hamptons, on that night. Tony recalls exactly how he found both Bruce and Rhodey and told them they were finished; it was time to go.

Neither Bruce nor Rhodey questioned his orders and they’d ended up in the limo on the road home long before the bachelor party had ended. 

“What didn’t you get the data? I thought you got the data?” Bruce had said and turned to Rhodey. “Did you make sure he got the information from the computer?”

Tony had interrupted them. “I got it. Don’t worry about it. I got what I needed.”

“But you still blew it?” Rhodey asked.

“Yeah, with Steve, I blew it.”

Of course, they didn’t put two and two together until Tony explained the meaning of it. He wove the tale and they’d cringed when he told them how he treated Steve once he found out about his life as a stripper. 

“I didn’t expect it. He was like the all American, model single dad. How was I supposed to know he moonlighted by stripping in gay club?”

“How come you make that face when you say gay club?” Bruce had asked.

“What face, I’m not making a face.”

“You’re making a face,” Rhodey had said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are,” Bruce had pointed out. 

Why did he make a face when he said gay club? He’s not even sure it was a gay club. But why did he react like that? It isn’t as if Tony’s ashamed of being bi. He’s comfortable in his own skin. He likes who he is. He doesn’t care who knows it. Even throughout all the years of his misspent youth, he never frequented places like stripper joints. He preferred the real deal to someone who was on display but not attainable.

The thought of Steve selling his sexuality, his looks for a quick buck turned his stomach. He had soul searching to do, but he feared he wouldn’t like what he found when he did it, so he tried to ignore it while the whole ordeal of the Stanes’ fall from grace took place. When Tony wanted to ignore something, he could ace it perfectly.

He let the time run past; he didn’t go to art class, he didn’t even call up about the prosthetic arm Bucky was still wearing. He tried to numb his thoughts and his ideas of what could have been.

Except it wasn’t working.

He would wake up in the middle of the night with Steve on his mind, thinking tomorrow he would contact him. But then when morning came that dark night courage would dissipate. After almost two months, it is Pepper who calls him on it.

He’s in the middle of planning a big expo for the company, showing off its new wares to the scientific and technology world when Pepper asks about the arm.

“Where is it? Can I see it? The data you have looks fabulous.”

“Hmm?” Tony’s in the workshop cataloguing all of the newest and greatest inventions from his best scientists and engineers. 

“The prosthetic arm?” Pepper says. “We need to feature this in our medical technology forum.”

“Oh, the arm,” Tony says and frowns. “I don’t have it.”

“You don’t have it?”

“No, it’s not here,” Tony says and flicks through the information from his research and development sector. Sure he has pieces and parts of an arm, but not the fully built functional arm.

“Where is it?” Pepper taps on his workbench to get his attention.

“I kind of gave it away?” Tony flinches when Pepper yelps a little.

“What? That’s a million dollar development project you just gave away?”

“I didn’t just give it away,” Tony says. “I gave it to someone who needed it.”

“Get it back,” Pepper says.

“Pep, you realize someone who needs it, doesn’t have an arm, right?” He sweeps his hands through the air, throwing all the lists into the trash as JARVIS follows his orders.

“Oh yeah, well, maybe we could ask this person to come to the expo?” 

He supposes he could get in touch with Natasha about it. She no longer works in legal but she does work with Fury and Coulson. He still has their phone numbers. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Okay then, so we have the list. I’ll get the plenaries together and we can start building the agenda. I think this will boost the company, Tony, I really do.” Pepper says and she squeezes his arm. “Will that be all Mister Stark?”

“Yes, Ms. Potts, that will be all.”

She smiles softly before she heads to the door.

“Pepper?”

Turning, she looks over her shoulder at him with her ponytail swinging slightly.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?”

Her smile twitches slightly and she shakes her head. “Why would you think that?”

“Nothing, no, just,” Tony says and scratches at his messed hair. “Forget it. See you tomorrow.”

She hesitates before she exits, but as she goes, she says, “If you need anything?”

“Okay, thanks, Pep.”

She leaves and he’s left with his toys, his magnificent A.I., and a heap of nothing inside. After trying to keep himself busy for another hour, he finally admits defeat and grabs his Audi car keys. 

“JARVIS, I’m going for a ride.”

“Of course, you are, sir.”

“Always the smart one.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony takes the elevator to the parking garage, jumps in the Audi, and heads out. It’s a rainy day and the traffic is snarled and ugly. It takes him twice as long as it should to get to the art school. When he pulls up to the curb, he stares at it and swallows. He hasn’t been gone that long, there’s no way. Nearly two months, but that’s all. 

The school is gone. The sign removed. There’s a _For Sale_ sign in the window by owner and the owner’s name is Johann Schmidt. “What the fuck?”

He needs to find Steve. He’d thought looking for Bucky had been a good excuse, but now he knows deep inside it was really about Steve, it was always about Steve. He digs out his phone and flips through the contacts to Steve’s number. He only hovers over the number for a second before the courage bubbles up and he presses it.

It goes immediately to voicemail. 

For long minutes his heart races, burns in his chest so much that his hands quake and he nearly drops the phone. Scrambling, he tries to think, tries to focus, but everything pings in his head like sleet hitting his windshield, hitting his face. It’s cold and stings at the same time. After he forces his brain to stop all the horrible scenarios – what could have happened to Steve and his daughter, how it all ended up being Tony’s fault, he manages to open his contacts and press the number for SHIELD.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Is this SHIELD?”

“Yep, hey Tony, it’s Skye.”

“That’s how you answer the phone?” Tony asks, he still has his doubts about this government organization.

She giggles and asks, “What can I do for you?”

“Do you have Natasha’s phone number, I need to get in touch with her – well, her boyfriend actually. He has something of mine.” Tony doesn’t know if he’s talking about the prosthetic arm or Steve.

“Hmm, we’re not usually allowed to do this – but since you were instrumental in bringing down one of the worst guys around, I’ll make an exception.”

He frowns and thinks she probably already has permission to give him the number. “Okay.”

She does and then he quickly says his goodbyes before he can lose his nerve to call Natasha. Before he’s even able to get out his name, Natasha says, “Meet me at the coffee shop on the corner.”

She hangs up and he stares at the phone. Spies are weird.

Nonetheless, he follows her orders and ends up in a corner table, eating a doughnut and drinking bitter coffee. It isn’t Natasha who appears, but Fury. 

“I asked for Natasha.”

“Now I feel insulted. What? Don’t you like my pretty face in the morning?” Fury says as he sits down.

“It isn’t morning.”

“No, it’s not, Stark. Why do you need Agent Romanoff?”

“I need to ask her about someone, and it’s personal.”

“She doesn’t like puppies with doe eyes coming after her, you know.”

Tony does a double take and he shivers. “No, I don’t want her. I want-.” He stops himself and changes course. “Her boyfriend has something of mine.”

“Something of yours?” Fury says and raises his one eyebrow, the scarred one over the patch. His arms are spread out over the back of the bench. “You mean the prosthetic metal arm?”

“Yes. He took it.”

“He just walked out with it, you’re Tony Stark with artillery at your disposal and he just walked out with it.”

“I don’t have artillery in my workshop and no, he didn’t walk out with it. I gave it to him, but I need it back.”

“That’s not exactly nice.”

“It’s a prototype and I need it back to present at the technology expo I’m having.” He taps the table. “Can you help me or not?”

“We probably can.” That comes from Natasha as she slips into the booth next to Fury. “He’s on assignment right now, you’ll have at wait a few days.”

“Oh that’s fine, but is there anyway-.” He pauses because he can’t think of a reason he would need to see Steve.

“You are pathetic, Stark,” Fury says. “Your moon eyes give you away.”

“I don’t moon.” He closes his eyes anyway as if it will wipe away the expression. God, he has it bad.

“Whatever, you’re mooning over that artist.”

“Do you know where he is?” Tony says and grips his coffee tighter. He looks up at them, and knows he’s giving the wounded puppy look. Hell, if it will work, he’ll get down and beg.

“Yeah, we do,” Natasha says. “What’s it to you?”

If Tony didn’t know better, he’d pin Natasha for being protective of Steve. If there’s ever a time to appeal to her softer side, this is it. “I did something, I want to apologize to him. If that’s okay?”

Natasha shares a look with Fury, but he only shakes his head. Thankfully, Natasha doesn’t listen to him. “He’s moved down to Georgia, a little town outside of Atlanta.”

“Georgia? What the hell is he doing in Georgia?” Tony says.

“He has family there, the mother to his daughter came from Georgia.” She’s judging him and he tries to take it down a notch.

“Can you give me his address? I’d really like to apologize to him,” Tony asks and he looks at Natasha because Fury’s expression reminds him of a hurricane. “A phone number that he’s at?”

“He still has the same phone number.”

Tony glares at her. “I tried it, it went straight to voicemail.”

“How many times?”

Tony wants to growl at her. “Listen, I want to see him. Can you give me his address?”

“Are you going to annoy him?” Natasha asks.

“No, I want to apologize, and I think this needs a face to face one. Plus I kind of need my arm back.”

She tilts her head and smirks. “One thing at a time, Stark.” She motions to him to give her his phone. He does and miraculously she opens it without even a problem with the passcode. She inputs the address. “If I find out you annoyed him or upset him in anyway, I will harm you. Also you can forget about getting the arm back, right now. James isn’t with him, he’s on assignment like I said.”

“You’ll wait Stark,” Fury says.

“I’m not sure why I’m putting up with this crap,” Tony says and grabs his phone from her. He really hates the government and all its secret shit.

“Moon eyes, Stark, moon eyes.”

He huffs at them and leaves, but as he walks out of the coffee shop he stares at the address. Steve is there, right there. He mucked things up so badly he’s not sure Steve will even want to have anything to do with him. He has this one chance. 

He’s taking it, immediately. He taps the phone and says, “JARVIS, fire up the jet. I’m going to Georgia.”

“Yes, sir.”

The flight is short but just long enough for Tony to go into fits about what he should say to Steve. He not only mucked it up, he fucked it up. During the flight he keeps busy by having JARVIS track everything down that he can find about Steve Rogers in a suburban Georgia. Steve’s living a little outside of Atlanta toward Macon but not quite that south. He happens to be living with his in-laws, the Mitchell’s on a peach orchard. It sounds pleasant and sweet. Tony wonders if he should burst Steve’s bubble by interrupting his new life.

When he lands, he ends up renting a car, and then driving to the small town, he finds a Marriot not far from the place where Steve lives and books it. That night he lies in the bed, trying to find the courage to face Steve in the morning. He feels surprisingly weak. The idea of meeting Steve, seeing him and admitting he might have overreacted; it hurts. 

He spends the night going over scenarios that always end in disaster. 

By the time he climbs out of the bed in the hotel room dogged by shadows of what little sleep he managed to get; he’s tired and frustrated. He ordered clothes to be deliver, as well as a shaving kit, everything he needed for a last minute trip. 

As he dresses, his phone rings. It’s Pepper – she’s going to be furious. Answering, he says, “Don’t be mad.”

“Why should I be angry when you’re not in New York for the meeting on the expo with the new Board of Directors? Why should I be angry?”

“I know, Pep, I just had to do this-.”

“This is the kind of behavior Wall street goes nuts over Tony,” Pepper says.

He rubs his temple, and grits his teeth. “I’ll be there. Move the meeting to the end of the week, tell them I had to go out of town for a last minute issue with the prosthetic device.”

“Is that true?”

“Kind of?”

“Tony.”

“Please, Pepper, I swear it.”

She sighs and says, “Okay, good luck.”

He doesn’t question her words until he already off the phone. She knows, and she accepted his lame apology and lie. There are reasons he loves Pepper. 

Finishing up, he grabs his phone and heads out. From his information that he dug up on the plane, he knows that Steve lives with his in-laws, and works the orchard for them. He drives out to the Mitchell’s home, and the sprawling orchards, and farms hung heavy with fruit and humidity. He’s sweating even in the air conditioning in the rented car. As he turns onto the drive to the old house – it looks like an old plantation house out of the movie _Gone with the Wind_. Part of it looks like it is under renovation and the rest looks livable but still under reconstruction.

Tony stops the car on the graveled driveway as an older woman with tight curls of salt and pepper hair, and a smile on her face exits the house. She has a towel in her hands and she calls to him, “Good blessings, today.”

He has no idea how to answer that, but nods and gets out of the car. “Good morning, I’m looking for Steve Rogers.”

She sizes him up and down, and he thinks she could take him down flat easily, even with her ample girth. “What’d you want?”

“I’m just here to speak with him, I’d like to see him if I could.” He tries to look non-threatening. Is he usually threatening? He has no idea and looks down at his feet.

“Granna.” A voice calls from inside; he snaps to attention. Emma appears on the porch. She’s wearing braces still but manages without her crutches. “Iron Man!”

“You know this hoodlum from the city?” Granna says.

Emma giggles and outstretches her arms to Tony. “He’s Iron Man, Granna. Daddy’s been so sad since we left.”

“Sad?” Tony cannot hope that Steve’s mood has anything to do with him.

Granna huffs and waves him up onto the porch. “Well, come on then, I can get ya something to eat. You want some biscuits and gravy? You look skinny, too skinny. Suppose a Northerner like yourself won’t like a good helping of grits.”

When he steps onto the porch, Granna takes him by the shoulders and jostles him about as she looks him over. “You are skin and bones boy. Momma, get the gravy out. We’re gonna warm up something for this skinny ass Yankee.”

Emma laughs and gets back into the kitchen. There’s an even older woman in the kitchen, her face is weathered like used leather. Her eyes are milky and her expression fierce. “Now, I didn’t raise my girl to be rude to visitors.”

“Ma’am, she’s not being rude,” he says but the older woman slaps at the air.

“You sit down and I’ll get you some strong coffee,” she says but leans over to Granna to add, “Get lots of gravy he looks like he’s gonna fall over and die right here. Can’t be having some white Yankee dying on our property.”

Tony pretends not to hear anything but clears his throat as Emma sits in her chair and eats toast and jelly. She smiles at him like she knows something he doesn’t. It scares him a little.

“Do you, is Steve around?”

“He’s around,” Granna says. “He’s out checking on the trees. We had a little bit of a cold snap come through.”

“It was fifty degrees, that ain’t no cold snap, Mandy,” the older woman says. “Oh and this is Mandy, my daughter and you can call me Momma, everyone does.”

He settles for smiling and sitting down where they tell him to sit. They feed him enormous amounts of biscuits, gravy, ham, fruit, and coffee. He doesn’t turn anything down. Emma disappears at some point when Momma takes her to catch the bus.

“She’s a good girl,” Mandy says – also known as Granna.

“She’s great,” Tony says. “Very strong, very smart.”

“You gonna come in here and take them away, aren’t you?” Granna says, shooting right from the hip.

“I don’t-.”

“Don’t sass me, young man, I know who you are. I also know that our Steve fell for you hook, line, and sinker. You done him harm and I don’t like seeing that. He’s as much my son as my sweet Kassie was my daughter. You hurt him.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Tony says.

“He’s not over you, I don’t think you should be here,” Mandy says. “But that’s not for me to decide. That’s his decision. I’m an old fashioned woman, I don’t know about this kind of love, but I know he’s hurting. I know he needs more than a couple of old folks in his life. You want to be that, I can’t go on and say no. But-” She nods to the window and he turns to look out and seeing Steve in only jeans and work boots walking up the steps of the house. “You hurt him, I got my ways to hurt you.”

She pushes herself up and leaves the room as Steve opens the screen door. “The trees look good. I’m gonna work on the house toda-.” He stops and stares, openmouthed, at Tony.

Tony shoves the chair away and stands up. “Steve.”

Looking everywhere but at Tony, Steve says, “What are you doing here?”

“I-it’s-I wanted to apologize.”

“For what? For the fact you thought I was something I wasn’t?” Steve moves into the kitchen and gathers up what’s plainly his t-shirt and pulls it on. 

“I never thought you were something you weren’t, Steve,” Tony says.

“Obviously, the fact that I stripped for a living wasn’t in your picture book of who you thought I was.”

Tony holds a hand on the table as if to steady his thoughts. “No,” he answers honestly. “It wasn’t. And that’s my fault, that’s on my head that I made up who I thought -.”

“I am,” Steve says and goes to the coffee pot and pours a mug. “I’m not who you want, Tony. What are you doing here?”

“Okay, let’s start this over again,” Tony says and clears his head. “I came here to apologize to you. I screwed up-.”

“Yeah, thanks. You can go now.”

“No,” Tony says. “I’m not done and your Granna or Mandy or whoever told me not to screw this up or she was going to make pie with me or something.” 

“She did not,” Steve says but Tony swears he sees the tiniest hint of a smile at the corners of Steve’s mouth.

“Okay, well maybe not pie,” Tony says. “But let me tell you a little something. Yeah, I fuc-.”

“Language, young man,” Mandy calls from the other room.

Tony flinches and now he does see a smile on Steve’s face. He considers this a win. He starts again, “Yeah, I really didn’t react well. I screwed up. But that’s because I was-.” He clears his throat. “I was, am making moon eyes at you. I see you as this great guy, who’s talented and smart and sexy as all get out.” He waits for the reprimand from the other room, but he only hears a snicker. “Anyhow, I love the way you draw and teach and the passion you have for art. I love the way you look at your little girl like she’s the stars and the moon and the sun all combined.”

“Amen to that,” Mandy says from the other room.

Not deterred he continues, “I love that I can be myself with you, and I’m dirt because you felt you couldn’t be that with me. That’s horrible and wrong and I shouldn’t have judged, because you know what?”

Steve’s head is bowed and Tony can’t read his expression.

“Well, you know what? I have no right, I never was in your position. Where you couldn’t make ends meet and you took an honest job. There’s nothing wrong with it, and baby, if you wanted to strip for the rest of our lives, I’d be there every night to support you and cheer you on. Because you know what, I want you the way you are, and I don’t care who knows it.”

Steve finally raises his head and, with a quirked expression, he says, “Our lives?”

“Wh-what?” Tony back tracks through what he said and he’s not embarrassed or ashamed at all. His mouth runs faster sometimes than his brain (which is a feat itself) and he thinks – this time – his mouth got it right. “Yeah, yeah, I want this between us. I can be myself, I can be me and, lord knows I find you attractive. I want to try this out, can we try this out?”

Steve hangs his head again, hand wrapped around the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Tony, my life is here now. I’m helping Mandy and Momma get this place together. Old Gramps is too sick.”

He wants to ask if that’s what he really wants in his life. Instead, he leaps for the opportunity. “You got me, baby, I’m here and I can help.”

“I don’t think you know how to hold a hammer.”

“I’m an engineer, don’t insult me,” Tony scoffs. “No, I can bring in the best contracting company around. I can hire help. I can fix up this old house.”

“I don’t know, I thi-.”

Mandy walks back into the kitchen and smiles. “I think you have a deal.”

“Um, I didn’t exactly say yes, Granna,” Steve says.

“The way you been mooning for this boy all these weeks, I can’t see how you’d survive another day without him. Now, get to it, kiss and make up.”

Steve’s eyes nearly bug out of his head and Tony chuckles as Mandy slaps the table, laughing. “Oh I do love to pick on you, you are so easy.”

Steve is still stuttering out a reply when she shoos them away. “Go, get, and talk it out or what not.”

Hesitating, Steve shuffles forward, but Tony takes the reins and guides him out onto the porch. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Tony.”

“It has to be Granna said it was,” Tony says and they go down the steps to the path that leads around the house toward the garden and barn. “I came all this way, Steve, that has to give me some points.”

“It does,” Steve concedes. 

“You sold the art school?” 

“I didn’t have a choice,” Steve says. “I stopped dancing after. After the party I stopped dancing.”

“Not because of me?” Tony says.

“No, more because of guys like Vanko, who mix up the idea of being a dancer with prostituting myself,” Steve says. “It wasn’t pretty, but I knew that I would quit after that.” Steve reaches for his left cheekbone and Tony spots it. The vestiges of a scar, it’s only a thin line but it’s still there. 

“You were hurt?” Tony cannot believe it, he left Steve to those garish men. It churns his stomach. Even though he knows Steve is stronger than he is, the thought of someone touching Steve without his permission sickens Tony.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Steve says as they walk along the vegetable path. “I sold the building to Schmidt. I took a loss, my credit’s for shit now. But I had enough money to get down here, and put Emma in a good school.”

“You like it here?” Tony asks and he dreads the answer.

“Emma loves being with her family.”

“What about you?”

“It’s nice, I like it, but I’m a New Yorker, through and through. But I’ll probably never be able to live up there. It’s too damned expensive,” Steve says.

“Yes, you would,” Tony says. “Steve, I’m not asking you to marry me on the spot. Christ, I’ve only kissed you a few times. But I want to be with you. I want to explore this and see if it means anything.”

“You really hurt me, Tony.”

“I’m sorry, I was a fool-.”

“Let me finish,” Steve says. They are stopped by the edge of the small pond near the garden. “I was stupid, too. I let you believe I was a bouncer, because I didn’t want to disappoint you. I lied by omission and that’s on me. It hurt to see you see me like that. I wanted you to see me, to look at me like you always did.”

“Like I always did?” Tony looks up at Steve, and he’s a wonder to behold in the warm Georgian sunlight. It’s obvious he’s been out working under the sun, with his cheeks brushed with red.

Steve smiles and whispers, “Like now, like how you’re looking at me now.”

“Oh baby, I could look at you like this forever.”

“I might disappoint you again, I don’t think I could take that,” Steve says, and they are standing so close, the heat from Steve’s breath brushes over Tony.

“I don’t think you could,” Tony says and that’s when Steve leans further, wavers for only a second, and then surges forward with intent. 

It might be an ordinary kiss, it might just be touches of lips and tongues but it rocks Tony’s world and he grasps onto Steve and vows to never let go in that instant.


	19. Chapter 19

**ONE YEAR LATER**  
“Hey Baby,” Tony whispers and waits as Steve fumbles toward wakefulness. “Happy wedding day, Baby.” 

Steve blinks and he smiles that slow almost languid expression as he comes awake. Tony loves this moment of the day, when Steve wakes. It’s a rare thing that Tony witnesses it, he’s usually still asleep because he’s spent too many hours in the workshop. 

In a groggy voice, Steve says, “You’re not supposed to be here in the morning.” He rolls over onto his back and Tony slips onto his chest.

“So go ahead and kick me out,” Tony says as he absently draws with his finger across Steve’s pectoral. 

Steve only laughs, but it is soft and sweet. “I wouldn’t be able to.”

“Is the door locked?” Tony says and hitches up on his elbows to look down at Steve.

“Well, you locked it last night,” Steve says. “We shouldn’t – it’s bad luck.”

“I don’t believe in such tomfoolery,” Tony says and wraps a leg around Steve to straddle him.

“Tomfoolery? You’ve been hanging around Granna too much,” Steve says.

“Maybe a little,” Tony says and bends over, hovering and then starts to lick and nip a bit at Steve’s neck. “Come on, one for the road.”

“The road? Your room is right next to mine,” Steve says and squirms as Tony touches with his lips a particularly sensitive area of Steve’s throat. A light and soft moan timbres through him.

“Just a little bit,” Tony says and Steve embraces him and then they flip over so that Tony’s beneath Steve.

“If you say so,” Steve says and pounces on Tony. Tony doesn’t have a prayer because Steve’s so much bigger and stronger – but he never uses his strength to overpower Tony. He’s always gentle, sometimes too gentle and Tony has to urge him and plead with him to let loose. 

Of course, Steve can also be an animal in bed and it coils deep in Tony’s belly as he feels Steve sidle up against him, pressing his weight on Tony, touching him with lips that drag and linger and kiss. He rolls into it, shuddering as Steve tastes and licks, and bites.

He gets up on his elbows, and says, “You sure you want to spoil the wedding night?”

Tony smirks with a quirked brow. “Did we already do that like months and months ago?”

Steve searches his face and there’s a seriousness that stops Tony. “I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I’m not sure what you mean? What’s this about, Steve?”

Steve draws him into his embrace, cradling him close. “I don’t want you to think-.”

“Shush, I never would,” Tony says and allows his kiss to add the potency his words never could. 

Steve muffles a moan and shivers over Tony as he curls away and hides his face in his neck. “I want you, Tony, I want to be in you. Can I?”

“Darling, you don’t have to ask,” Tony says and lifts up his chin to cup Steve’s face. “You never have to ask.”

Steve’s kiss brings to Tony the actuality, the profundity of love. There’s a difference he’s learned between passion and love, and Steve has been his teacher. Tony has only been a poor student, but he’s learned the truth of love and the heat of passion. He’s learned that passion subsides like the flaring flames of a camp fire until it turns to embers – hot and heated, warming for long hours, for days, and years to come. And that is love.

With lube and condom in hand, Steve preps Tony and it’s almost too much. Steve always takes his time, always ensures that Tony is ready, that Tony wants it, that Tony is safe. It’s so different than anything Tony’s experienced before that it swallows him up in its perfection. 

Sometimes, Tony thinks that Steve likes how he drives Tony mad, how his touch, his caresses, his weight against him causes Tony to beg and writhe. Steve always pushes Tony to the edge, slowly, inexplicably he entices and entrances until Tony cannot take it anymore, and his body is straining from the need, and he thinks he might curl in on himself if Steve doesn’t breach him.

Just as he gets to the point of no return, Steve does and it’s astounding and shattering and breaks him but builds him at the same time. Being in love with Steve isn’t like anything else in this world. Tony cannot describe it but he knows he feels things more intensely, sees things more beautifully, hopes for things with more courage. Because above all things, Steve shows Tony how to be brave, how to believe in himself, how to understand the world and the light and shadows in it.

Steve hovers over him, thrusting in languorous pulls and pushes. His breath mixes with Tony’s and they pant together, groaning and moaning as one. Tony braces himself against Steve, gripping his arms tight enough to leave marks. Steve won’t come until Tony finds his way there, he has one hand between them, stroking Tony, urging him on. Their rhythm picks up and Steve shudders as he waits for Tony. 

Looking up at Steve above him, encompassing him, Tony sees Steve for the first time. He remembers how Steve taught him how to see. Creating art is light and shadow; it an illusion of reality. He sees Steve over him, the light from the window anointing his cheeks, glistening off the sweat, shining across his chest. Light and shadow makes them. He reaches down and slides his hands to the slim waist and finally against the taut ass of his love. He grapples and drags him closer. 

There’s a physicality between them that in this moment he transcends. As they come in waves Tony yells a plea and blanks out. The light becomes absence of shadow and the definition of reality fades, but whispers truth at the same time. 

In the midst of his climax he opens his eyes to see the flash of light cross over Steve and he shivers in response. He couldn’t ask for more, he couldn’t dream of more. He’s falls with Steve into the inevitable despair of separation as they come down and are released. 

Steve drops to the side and tries to catch his breath. He doesn’t do a good job, but Tony knows the telltale signs of an asthma attack and he’s not close, just as Steve knows to look for Tony’s heart palpitations. He cuddles up to Steve, who automatically gathers Tony to him.

“Love you,” Steve says.

“Love you too, baby.”

“Happy wedding day,” Steve says as he nuzzles into Tony’s hair.

“Very much so.”

That is how he starts his day with Steve, and that is also how he ends it. After the ceremony and the festivities. After all is done and official, they find themselves again tucked into their bed, huddled together and awake after making love for the first time as a married couple.

They have plans. He talks about them all the time. Stark Industries has turned the corner and become a leader in the advanced technology sector. Steve spends most of his days working as an art teacher in a little school run by Darcy Lewis. The rest of the time, he cares for their daughter and creates his own art. They have family near and far. 

Tony wishes he could give Steve everything, but Steve won’t let him. It’s perfect this way, and Tony agrees. He lies with Steve in his arms, lazy and happy.

“You remember when you taught me about light and shadow?” Tony asks as the night drifts onward.

“Hmm, teach everyone about light and shadow, Tony.”

“Yeah, I suppose you do. But when you did, I thought it was magnificent. I didn’t say anything, I didn’t probably even think about it. But it’s so simple and elegant. I love the way you teach it.”

“I didn’t invent it.”

“No.” Tony pauses. “But you made me, you taught me how to see.”

Steve reaches to Tony and they kiss again. It’s this that Tony will always love. 

Even as the night covers them, conceals them, Tony can still see the light. His heart is broken, but for all that’s it’s wounded, it provides the light he needs to see. He sees the light and shadows, the reflected light, the cast shadow, the highlight. He sees it all, and it’s all centered on this man before him, cradled in his arms. 

The shadows and light forms perceptions of truths and reality. 

“You’re thinking too much,” Steve says and strokes a hand down Tony’s back.

“Maybe,” Tony replies.

“Not about the new upgrade,” Steve says. “For Bucky, please don’t tell me you’re thinking about that on our wedding night.”

“No, I told you, I was thinking about light and shadow and perception.”

“Perceptions are what you make of them,” Steve says.

“Perception is everything,” Tony agrees and realizes if he hadn’t changed his perceptions of Steve he might not have found his way toward happiness. “Perception is everything.”

Steve hugs him close, and kisses the crown of his head. “It just might be.”

Tony knows, and so he smiles and closes his eyes to sleep, and to dream.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading the story. I had an interesting time writing it considering it is far afield from my usual fare. I hope it lived up to expectations. If you want to follow me on tumblr you can find me [here](http://winterstar95.tumblr.com)
> 
> But the question still remains, am I any good at domestic fluff stories??? I just don't know. I keep thinking it might be nice to revisit, you know, little timestamps about their life together....might be a fun break from all the angst of the rest of my stories.


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